Concerning Nightmares
by rukushaka
Summary: Based after Owlsaway's A Place For Warriors. Harry experiences disturbing nightmares and turns to Snape. The problems run deeper than they know... No Slash. Mentorfic.
1. Chapter 1

All characters, settings, etc, belong to JKR. The premise of the story is taken from Owlsaway's brilliant story A Place For Warriors. I own nothing.

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_He was standing - was he standing? Yes, there was a feeling of cold stone beneath his feet - in a murky darkness, the sort that was almost dense enough to be palpable, like a sort of inky black cloud. It was thick enough to choke the life out of his emotions, leaving him strangely detached. The darkness surrounded him on all sides, pressing in on him, threatening to smother him with its heavy presence. Harry passed a hand experimentally in front of his face, and, as expected, saw nothing. The fog was swirling about him, although he couldn't see it, but as a scene took form through the miasma, he realized he was wrong - there was room for emotion here, and at present he was feeling nothing more than pure terror._

_Harry forced the emotion to the back of his mind, and concentrated on making out the forms in front of him._

_Snape was standing there, a snarl on his lips, and Harry watched as a book left the Potion Master's hand, flying through the air to impact with a painful crack upon his - the other Harry's - nose. He watched as the scene changed, and the two figures were falling, twin expressions of savage determination spread across their faces._

_And then the scenes were coming thick and fast, and Harry could only watch in rising confusion and terror as everything that had happened in the Room of Requirement was played out before him._

_Two wands, and then there was echo of pain as burns appeared on the other Harry's hands. A brief flash of light as the afternoon with Severus and Lily came to the forefront, and then a deep-seated ache in his chest, and raging pain as he forced himself to Obliviate them - for their own good, a reason that still sounded too close to some of Dumbledore's reasoning for comfort. Flashes of Snape's features - twisted with anger, buried in his hands in Severus' room, looking at him, something akin to pity in his eyes, and then Snape was lying, cold and still, on the floor, and Harry was cradling him, begging him - screaming at him - not to die, not to leave him, when he knew it was useless, they all died, they all left him alone in the end. _

_And then there was no change - Snape didn't start his ragged breathing, but continued to lie there, so still, on the cold floor, and Harry shook his head in mute terror even as he thought, this isn't what happened, this isn't real, this isn't real, Dumbledore would've intervened, this isn't real.. But Snape just lay there, not breathing, and the other Harry cradled him, silent tears running down his cheeks, and the real Harry could feel the hitch in his own breathing as his terror mounted.._

And then he was sitting bolt upright in his bed in the Gryffindor boy's dorm, panting as if he'd just run a marathon, panic pushing all rational thought out of his mind. Swinging his legs out of bed, Harry swung his invisibility cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood over his head as he set off on the trek to Snape's quarters.

It was only when he'd raised his hand to knock at the door to Snape's rooms, that he finally paused, some semblance of logical thought returning to his mind. He pulled the cloak off slowly, giving himself time to think. What was he supposed to say - _Sorry Sir, I had a nightmare, just here to make sure you're really alive and didn't die after all?_

Harry shrugged, deciding it didn't matter, and knocked anyway. It was a minute or two before the door opened, revealing a less-than-pleased Potion's Master. Snape regarded him for a moment from beneath lowered lids.

"Potter, it is _two_ in the _morning_."

Harry gestured nervously, "I know - I mean, I didn't know, but I do now. I- I just - "

Snape closed his eyes briefly, holding up a hand to stem the flow of words. He looked Harry over before stepping back and gesturing him inside. Harry made his way inside, draping the cloak over the back of the couch before sitting down and curling his feet up under himself. Snape took the armchair opposite, resting elbows on knees, hands clasped lightly together. He leant forward, regarding Harry with some measure of weariness.

"Nightmares?"

Harry glanced up, surprise flashing across his face before he recalled himself - this was Snape, of course he knew something was up. He nodded, dropping his gaze to the carpet.

Snape looked thoughtful and vaguely self-mocking. "And so you came to me. Of course."

Harry shrugged miserably.

A sigh gusted through the air above his head.

"Lie down, Harry."

He obeyed, thankful that there was someone to make decisions for him when his head was this fuzzy. A cushion was placed beneath his head and a rug draped over him. Harry's mouth quirked softly at colour - a deep, rich red, surprisingly comforting in the circumstances. His eyes slid closed as a hand clasped his shoulder briefly, and then footsteps retreated as he sank into darkness and sleep overtook his weary mind.

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The next chapter will be longer, I promise. ^^


	2. Chapter 2

As always, I own nothing. Updates on this will be sporadic - you might get two in two days, you might get one a month. At the moment it's holidays and I'm on a roll. Reviews make my day =)

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Snape was catapulted from his sleep by a spine-tingling scream from the living room. He rolled, grasping for his wand beneath the pillow before coming up out of his crouch and sprinting for the door.

What he saw when he reached the living room was.. unsurprising, given the circumstances. Harry was half-standing, breath coming in great pants, staring around him in a blind panic. He turned, saw Snape approaching, and took a step forward, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and relief, hands coming up to fist in his shirt. Snape exhaled softly - at least the boy wasn't hurt - before gently placing his hands on Harry's shoulders, feeling his fine trembling.

"It's alright, Harry, I'm here, you're safe." he murmured, brow creased with concern.

Harry stared at him blankly before realization dawned, and he let out a mirthless bark of laughter. "It's not _my_ safety I'm worried about, you dolt."

_Ah. _Snape raised an eyebrow. "In that case, allow me to rephrase myself. I am here, you are here, and we're both safe." At Harry's continued shivering, he guided the boy down to the couch and sat beside him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Harry just looked at him, a lost look in his eyes, as the trembling slowly ceased and he calmed.

"We can talk about it, if you'd like - "

Harry shook his head wordlessly.

"I thought not."

They sat in silence for a while, and then Snape went to stand up, only to pause as a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't leave." Harry's voice was full of fear.

Snape disengaged his hand. "I have no intention of it. Lie down."

Harry looked at him for a long moment before nodding and complying. Snape removed the boy's glasses and drew the rug up over the him, aware of the watchful green eyes as he relaxed into the armchair opposite.

"Try and sleep, Harry."

There was a soft snort from the couch.

Snape allowed a hint of a mockery to enter his voice. "Don't make me repeat myself, Potter."

Harry blinked at him, mouth curling into a quiet smile before muttering, "Yes, sir." and closing his eyes.

Snape wordlessly summoned his book from the bedroom, settling in for the long night - _morning_ - ahead.

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Snape glanced up sharply as a whimper floated through the air. Harry was lying half on his back, limbs akimbo, blanket twisted around his legs. Sweat was beading on his forehead, dampening the black hair. Snape grimaced, debating with himself if it would serve more harm than good to wake him at this stage. He decided to let the nightmare run its course - he could always dose the boy with Dreamless Sleep once he awoke fully.

Crouching down, Snape summoned a facecloth from the bathroom, dampening it with a murmured spell. He placed a hand on Harry's forehead, then his neck, checking temperature and pulse. Slightly warm, but nothing to worry about. Slowly, gently - wondering at this new-found instinct even as he let it take rein - he brushed the cloth over the boy's forehead, wiping away sweat, cooling the heated flesh. For a moment he thought he saw Harry's eyelids crack open, looking at him with dazed eyes for a second before closing again.

Snape ran a hand through Harry's hair, protectively, before resuming his seat and picking up his book once more.

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Snape tensed, instinctively discarding his book and moving closer to the couch. This stage of the nightmare had been characterized by restless moving and squirming, punctuated by the odd noise - whimpers or a stifled sob. The sudden stillness - Harry's entire body had gone taut - was alarming.

He waited in silence, waiting for Harry to snap out of it, waiting for something to happen - and then it did.

Harry woke with a hoarse yell and rolled, almost falling off the couch as Snape pushed a hand out to stop him. His head went over the side, and he heaved the contents of his stomach onto the floor even as Snape thrust a hastily transfigured bucket in the way to catch the flow. Harry's breath was coming in great gasps; a sob emerged from his throat as he bent his head miserably over the bucket. His eyes were closed tight, his grip on the bucket white-knuckled. Snape placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, helplessly aware that there was nothing he could do at the present moment, except to offer some mediocre form of comfort.

The heaving stopped temporarily. Harry swung his legs down to come up into a sitting position, retaining his hold on the container. He moaned, a desperate, anguished sound that tore from his throat with animalistic feeling before lowering his head once more to the bucket. Snape joined him on the couch, carefully snaking an arm around his shoulders, feeling the violent shaking from the boy tucked beside him.

It was half an hour before Harry finally put the bucket down and leant weakly into Snape's shoulder. The shaking had given way to a fine trembling, and as he opened his eyes to look up at Snape, the green eyes were wide, haunted. Snape barely hesitated, pulling the boy into his arms, and as Harry's hands fisted desperately into the front of his shirt and he began to sob in earnest, Snape knew it was the right thing to do - Harry needed this, needed _him, _needed the physical contact to assure himself Snape was still there.

Eventually Harry's breathing evened out, and he pulled away slightly. Snape let his arms fall and eased back, giving him space. As his mouth opened, Snape held up a hand.

"No, don't talk."

Harry shut his mouth. The corner of Snape's mouth curled gently.

"Good boy." He summoned a vial of Dreamless Sleep and, as an afterthought, a second item.

"You're going to drink this, and then you're going to sleep. But first - "

Snape held up the Pensieve.

"I want everything. From what brought you here tonight, to what caused - " he gestured to the bucket, " this."

Harry nodded resignedly. Snape brought his wand up slowly, so as to not startle the boy, and held it at his temple. "Just start at the start, and let it flow naturally from there." He gave Harry a moment, and then drew the wand slowly away, letting the strands of memory stretch and separate, and the memory fell into the Pensieve.

Snape got up to place the Pensieve on the nearby table, and returned to see Harry once more lying down. Harry shivered, caught his concerned glance, and simply said, "Cold."

Snape wordlessly summoned a thick duvet to cover the boy. "Better?"

Harry nodded. "Thanks."

He handed the vial of potion to Harry. "Dreamless Sleep. Drink it."

Harry did so with something like relief, and his eyes closed and the tense lines on his face relaxed under the influence of the potion.

Snape watched him carefully for a few minutes before turning his attention to the Pensieve. Like it or not, he had to know what had provoked this extreme reaction.. and then he had an uncomfortable feeling that a meeting with the Headmaster would be imminent.

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Reviews make my day =D And yes, you will find out about the nightmares in the next chapter or so.


	3. Chapter 3

There you go, third update in three days. Gratuitous amounts of thanks are appreciated, as are reviews. I own nothing.

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Harry woke slowly out of a deep sleep, aware that he was warm and comfortable, more so than he'd been in a long time. He opened his eyes and sat up carefully - the nightmare was hovering at the back of his mind, fuzzy and out-of-focus, but definitely there. Something rustled off his chest and onto the floor. Finding his glasses, he put them on, and turned to see a sheet of folded parchment lying on the floor. Harry opened it, to reveal Snape's spiky scrawl.

_Harry,_

_I had one of the house-elves bring some fresh clothes down for you, they are in a pile on your left._ _The bathroom is down the hall, first door on the right - feel free to use the shower, towels are in the wicker basket in front of you as you go in. Breakfast is on table._

_I suggest you eat something, you need solid food to keep your energy up - and you know me well enough to know that wasn't really a suggestion._

_I shall be in the den; it's the last door on the left, watch the step down as you enter._

_S.S._

Harry grinned at the letter - _Snape has a shower?_ - before laying it aside. Scooping up the pile of clothes, he made his way to the bathroom, emerging twenty minutes later in blue jeans and a grey jumper, scrubbed clean and damp-haired.

Breakfast was heaped toast, sausages and bacon, and as Harry carried his plate down the hall to the den he wondered idly if Snape ever ate for the joy of eating, or if it was just another necessity. He glanced down as he went in - _mind the step - _and what he saw as he looked back up made him halt in his tracks, struggling to breathe around the sudden lump in his throat.

Snape was sitting at the worktable, hair brushed back from his face with impatient fingers as he fiddled with a screwdriver and a small mound of screws, bolts, and bits of metal. The man was dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, face relaxed and even - peaceful? - as he focussed on the work before him. He looked so _young_ - and Harry was aware of a growing ache in his chest as he compared the man before him to the scowling, sallow-skinned man that inhabited the Potion's classroom during school time, and was suddenly struck by _just_ _how much_ Snape had to sacrifice on a daily basis, to ensure his position as a double agent.

Snape glanced up. "Come in, Mr Potter. No need to hover in the doorway."

Harry stepped forward to grasp the back of the couch, swallowing the lump in his throat. He gestured helplessly. "You look so young."

Snape looked at him blankly, then looked down at himself for a moment and raised a quizzical brow. "I suppose I do. The work is therapeutic."

At Harry's continued silence, he added, "What of it?"

Harry skirted around the edge of the couch and sat, twisting his fingers. "I - I just - " he paused and tried again. "You'd be the same age as - "

Snape's gaze softened infinitesimally, "As your parents? Yes."

Harry nodded, lost in thought. After a few moments he shook himself from his reverie, saying distantly, "I miss them."

"As do we all. It was a war, people die, life goes on..." Snape met Harry's eyes, and Harry knew he was remembering those eyes in another face, framed by red hair, and Harry saw a single tear run down his cheek... "But yes, we miss them."

Snape stood abruptly, breaking eye contact, and waved a hand toward Harry's plate. "Enough dwelling in the past. Eat, Potter, and listen - I trust you can do both at the same time? Good - and then we have places to be, people to see, etcetera, etcetera."

Harry speared a sausage and began eating as Snape paced back and forth, slipping into teaching mode.

"I took the liberty of informing the Headmaster of your... condition, reaction, what have you. Thus, we have a meeting scheduled with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall - yes, Potter, Professor McGonagall is Deputy Headmistress, not to mention your own Head of House, therefore she _will _be attending and that is _not _open to debate - do I make myself clear?"

Snape glared at Harry, receiving a hurried nod in response, before continuing. "Good. You might also find it wise to put aside your... animosity... with the Headmaster - we have more important matters to attend to." Harry nodded again. "It is now a quarter to nine, the meeting begins at nine o'clock. Your name has been added to the list of those currently in the Hospital Wing, and my own classes are being covered by another teacher. Before we go - "

Snape's tone softened. He ceased his pacing and sat, looking at Harry over steepled fingers, a shade of anxiety in his black eyes. Harry placed his empty plate on the end table before turning his full attention to Snape. "The main purpose of the meeting will be to revisit what happened last night. To that end - "

Harry felt a cool hand close over his own, stopping the nervous drumming of fingers on knees. "To that end," Snape repeated softly, "we will be delving into your memories in the Pensieve."

Harry snapped his gaze up to meet Snape's eyes, feeling a thrill of fear go through him. "But - "

"No buts. As the Headmaster would say, you need to _understand_ what happened; and at the moment, you have nothing more than a dim recollection of the nightmare, am I right?"

Harry bit his lip nervously before nodding assent.

"Then you need to be be there too, to _understand. _Harry," and here a furrow appeared between Snape's brows, "believe me, I will be there with you, I will be there _for _you, and I will do my damnedest to help you through this."

Harry cleared his throat. "That bad, huh?"

Snape looked at him for a moment and nodded curtly. "Yes." He stood and stretched. "And now, if you would follow me, we have a meeting to attend."

Harry followed Snape out to the living room and was soon Flooing to the Headmaster's Office. Upon arrival, he pitched forward, off balance - and was abruptly jerked back by a hand on his shoulder.

"Do try and preserve some sense of decorum, Potter." Snape drawled from behind him. "Equilibrium, too, if you can manage it."

Harry fought the grin tugging at corners of his mouth. "Yes, sir."

"Harry, Severus, good of you to join us." Dumbledore invited them both to sit with a sweep of his hand, the twinkle in his eye subdued.

The hand on his shoulder tightened for a moment and then lifted, as Harry moved to take the middle armchair. Professor McGonagall sat to his left, and as Snape took the chair on his right, Harry fought down a sudden sense of panic. He intercepted a glance from Snape and smiled weakly.

"Lemon Drop?" Dumbledore offered.

Harry instead found his attention fixated on the Pensieve that sat on the Headmaster's desk. The stone basin was cloudy, evidence of the memories - his memories - that lurked inside. His hand clenched on the arm of the chair.

A soft cough from his right made him blink. Harry looked up to find the three Professors watching him.

"Sorry, sir? Oh - uh, no thanks, Professor. I just ate breakfast."

Dumbledore slid an amused glance toward Snape. "Indeed? Very well then. On to business." He cleared his throat. "I believed it prudent to inform Professor McGonagall of the gist of what went on in the Room of Requirement last month - " There was a hiss of escaped air from Snape, and Harry grimaced for a moment before nodding acknowledgement. Dumbledore went on, "and she now has a much clearer picture of the context of these nightmares. Harry - "

Harry tensed - _don't call me that, I don't trust you - _but, remembering Snape's advice, schooled his features into a neutral expression. "Sir?"

"I fully comprehend how hard this must be for you, but I need you to accompany us when we view the memories. You need to - "

" - to understand, I know, Sir." Harry let some of his bitterness enter his voice, "I learnt that last year. And with all due respect, you _don't_ comprehend how hard this is. You weren't there."

There was a warning growl of "Potter" from his right, but Dumbledore merely waved his hand. "It's quite alright. My apologies, Harry. Now: I believe the memory is naturally separated into four parts, Severus?"

Snape nodded. "Divided by the periods of wakefulness in which Mr Potter found himself: the first when he appeared at my door, the second when he.." a muscle flickered in Snape's cheek, "woke screaming, the third when he only half-woke and immediately fell asleep again, and lastly when he forcibly ejected the contents of his stomach all over my carpet."

Seeing Harry's curious glance, Dumbledore said, "Professor Snape is the only person who has seen the full contents of the Pensieve. I have seen parts of it, but even you yourself, Harry, do not have a clear memory of what happened - that memory is currently in front of us."

Harry licked his dry lips.

"The natural separation will work in our favour. After each stage, we will pause to regroup, and discuss what we have found." Dumbledore stood, and the three followed suit. "Any questions?"

Harry shook his head as his gut clenched in nervous anticipation.

"Very well. Remember, you need only submerge your hand. Severus, I will ask you to keep an eye on Mr Potter."

A warm hand settled on Harry's shoulder as he felt something solid at his back. Snape's voice vibrated through the air. "Of course, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's gaze swept over them for a moment, and he nodded. "On three, then. One - "

They moved to stand closer to the desk.

"Two - "

Harry held his hand over the Pensieve, ready to plunge it in.

"Three."

Snape's grip tightened on his shoulder as they immersed and collided hands, and then they were falling into darkness.

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Just a quick note, in case you didn't catch it in A Place For Warriors - it's set in 5th Year, when Umbridge is DADA teacher. So when's Harry's talking about "last year", it was 4th Year, when Cedric died.

Review =D


	4. Chapter 4

I own nothing, yada yada yada. Funny how the length of the chapters keep growing, eh? First chapter was about 900 words, this one's 1700.

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_He was standing - he knew he was standing - in a murky darkness, the sort that was almost dense enough to be palpable, like a sort of inky black cloud. It was thick enough to choke the life out of his emotions, leaving him strangely detached (_except, of course, for the slowly rising terror_). The darkness surrounded him on all sides, pressing in on him, threatening to smother him with its heavy presence. Harry passed a hand experimentally in front of his face, and, as expected, saw nothing. (_But this time he was aware of the hand on his shoulder and the steady rise and fall of Snape's chest behind him.._) The fog was swirling about him, although he couldn't see it, but as a scene took form through the miasma, he realized he was wrong - there was room for emotion here, and at present he was feeling nothing more than pure terror._

_Snape was standing there, a snarl on his lips, and Harry watched as a book left the Potion Master's hand, flying through the air to impact with a painful crack upon his - the other Harry's - nose. (_Snape's hand gripped his shoulder in a silent apology._) He watched as the scene changed, and the two figures were falling, twin expressions of savage determination spread across their faces._

_And then the scenes were coming thick and fast, and Harry could only watch in rising confusion and terror as everything that had happened in the Room of Requirement was played out before him._

_Two wands, and then there was echo of pain as burns appeared on the other Harry's hands. A brief flash of light as the afternoon with Severus and Lily came to the forefront, and then a deep-seated ache in his chest, and raging pain as he forced himself to Obliviate them (_But the emotions were more distant this time round, and Harry thought it was the warmth at his back that was helping_). Flashes of Snape's features - twisted with anger, buried in his hands in Severus' room, looking at him, something akin to pity in his eyes, and then the Memory-Snape was lying, cold and still, on the floor, and Memory-Harry was cradling him, begging him - screaming at him - not to die, not to leave him, when he knew it was useless, they all died, they all left him alone in the end. _

_(_Harry knew he was trembling, and he shrank back against Snape's chest, wrapping his arms around himself. Snape's arms snaked around him, holding him steady, calming him.._)_

_And then there was no change - Snape didn't start his ragged breathing, but continued to lie there, so still, on the cold floor, and Harry shook his head in mute terror even as he thought, this isn't what happened, this isn't real, this isn't real, Dumbledore would've intervened, this isn't real.. But Snape just lay there, not breathing, and the other Harry cradled him, silent tears running down his cheeks, and the real Harry could feel the hitch in his own breathing as his terror mounted.._

And then they were standing in Dumbledore's Office, and warm hands were shaking Harry, telling him to _breathe, _and he was gasping, heaving great panting breaths as he leant helplessly against the solid chest behind him. His breathing slowly calmed, and he became aware that McGonagall was sinking back into her chair, one hand at her throat, and Dumbledore was standing, head bowed and eyes closed, and Snape - Harry turned.

Snape was surveying him with a sort of grim amusement.

"You think it's _funny_?" Harry asked incredulously.

Snape smirked. "After ten years of Sybill Trelawney steadily predicting my death, it's actually quite refreshing to meet a scenario that portrays it in so tame a manner." The smirk faded, and his gaze flickered to the Pensieve, "However... the rest of your nightmare manages to cover that concern quite well."

A shudder coursed through Harry.

He turned to see Dumbledore and McGonagall had recovered their composures, although McGonagall still looked slightly pale.

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "I need you to explain - to paraphrase, if you will - what it was we just saw. Not because we are having any difficulty ourselves, but because you need to -"

" - to understand, _I know._" Harry broke off with a cough. A glass of water was pressed into his hand, and he took a grateful sip. "About the nightmare - I would've thought that was obvious, Sir. I was... remembering... what happened in the Room of Requirement, and then my subconscious, or whatever, exploited my fears and took it a bit far."

"Fears?" Dumbledore's voice was carefully dispassionate.

Harry nodded, knowing he was expected to answer the question fully. He waved a hand vaguely. "One result of last month's events was to break down some barriers between Professor Snape and myself. Continued interaction both in and out of class - it - it changed our - relationship - to some extent - " he paused, ran a hand despairingly through his hair, and ended in a rush, "Fears that someone I care about will die, right in front of me, and I won't be able to do a thing about it."

There was silence for some minutes. Harry sat, gazing miserably at the front of Dumbledore's desk. Finally, there was the sound of soft footsteps, and Snape spoke.

"Harry - " lean fingers lifted his chin. Green eyes met black for a long moment before Snape continued. "What did I tell you earlier in the den, hmm?"

"You said that - that you'd be there with me and for me and you'd do your damnedest to help me get through this." Harry replied promptly.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry blinked. "Oh."

Snape smirked. "Precisely. Now, as you seem to have an admirable understanding of your nightmares, shall we press on?"

He handed them each a vial of potion. "Calming Draught laced with a nausea suppressant. It should last for the next two hours. You may not think you need it now, but you'll be thankful enough for it once we start getting through the memories."

Harry popped the cork and raised it in a salute.

"Cheers, then."

He met Snape's eyes with a grin, remembering the last time they were in this situation. The black eyes shimmered in recognition and amusement, and Snape raised his own vial in return.

The potion slid down easily, and on the count of three they were falling once more into his memories.

_Harry blinked against the brightness, and felt the comforting weight of Snape's hand settle on his shoulder. They were in the sunlit grove, and as they watched, child-Severus ran into the clearing and sank to the ground._

_Memory-Harry and Memory-Snape burst into the grove, panting and sweaty. Snape strode over to the child, sank to the ground, and took the boy's hand from his bleeding cheek._

"_I hate it when he wears a ring." Severus said wearily._

"_I know." Snape replied quietly._

_The memory faded to black, and the words echoed in the darkness._

"_I hate it... he wears a ring... when he wears a ring I hate it... I hate it... "_

_Another memory faded in, and Memory-Snape loomed over Memory-Harry as they stood in his office._

"_You tried to kill yourself?" Snape asked._

"_Yes."_

_There was a sharp crack, and a half-stifled yell, as he backhanded Harry across the face._

_(_Harry stood, breathing in time with the rise and fall of Snape's chest behind him, as he waited to see how this would play out._)_

_There were some moments of out-of-focus yelling, the occasional phrase coming through clear - _

"_You must stay alive, Potter!"_

"_I've been tortured in the name of keeping you alive! I've tortured others in the name of keeping you alive!"_

_And then the memory came into sharp focus again, zooming in on the blood-specked ring. Memory-Snape fiddled with it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket._

_And as the memory faded out, the child-Severus' voice echoed through the air._

"_I hate it when he wears a ring... I hate it... I hate it... he wears a ring... I hate it when he wears a ring."_

_There was complete silence for a full minute. (_Harry felt Snape ease closer to him in the darkness as they waited._)_

_The scene changed abruptly. It was the end of the third task, and Memory-Harry was grinning at Cedric._

"_Together, then?"_

"_Together."_

_As one, they reached out and grasped the cup. There was a horrifying moment of confusion and anger and pain, (_And Snape's hand clenched tightly on his shoulder,_) and then they were sprawled, face-down, on the ground._

_Voldemort's high, cold tones came through the darkness._

"_Kill the spare."_

_There was a flash of green light. _

_(_Harry braced himself to see Cedric's open, staring eyes, as he had so often in his dreams since that day..._)_

_But the eyes gazing at him so devoid of life were black; bottomless black framed by greasy hair (_and Harry bit back a yell_) - _

_It was Snape._

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_Reviews make my day!_

_If you have any advice about how to make the memories less confusing, message me or whatever. Constructive criticism is always appreciated =)_


	5. Chapter 5

As always, Harry Potter belongs to JKR. Exponential growth continues - this chapter comes in at 2,300 words. Reviews are wonderful.

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"And then I woke screaming._" _Harry said with an impish grin.

Snape put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around, but before he could open his mouth, McGonagall was bearing down on them with a steely glint in her eyes.

"Severus Snape, get your hand off him."

Snape slowly lifted his hand and dropped it to his side. "Minerva - "

"You hit a student. _You, _Severus Snape, youngest Potion's Master in half a century, Head of Slytherin - " her nostrils flared, "hit. my. student."

Snape inclined his head with a grimace. "It is hardly something I am proud of."

Harry broke in, "It's alright, Professor McGonagall. Well - I mean, it isn't alright, to do that, I know that now - but we've talked it over and - and have come to a deeper understanding of the - of the surrounding issues."

Snape said sarcastically, "Well done, Mr Potter."

McGonagall, with frightening accuracy, stated flatly, "You know that now_._"

Her gaze swept from Harry to Snape and back again. "He hit you, and it isn't alright, and _you know that now. _That implies that you _didn't _know it before, or hadn't realised, or -" She blinked. "Potter, how did your relatives treat you?"

Harry went pale.

She threw up her hands. "Forget it. _Merlin_, I can't deal with this now. Albus!"

Dumbledore regarded her calmly. "Minerva?"

"Let's get on with it."

Snape flicked a glance at McGonagall as he settled his hand once more on Harry's shoulder. She nodded at him grimly, and Snape could read the look in her eyes - _I'm leaving this alone for now, but by Merlin I will get an explanation, or you will suffer._ He inclined his head, and they moved toward the Pensieve.

"One,"

"Two,"

"Three."

_They were in a desert; rolling dunes of sand stretched to the horizon, and the hot sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky. A breeze whipped their hair about their faces, and with the breeze there came voices, ghostly and echoing._

_"What would you have done, if it were just you, day after day?"_

"_Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow..." (_Snape stiffened; after all, it was his voice._) "And all our yesterdays have lighted fools, the way to dusty death."_

_The breeze swirled, bringing a different voice with it._

"_Harry; Harry - " (_Snape stifled a sigh - blasted James Potter, always turning up when he wasn't wanted. A shiver ran through the boy in front of him._) _

_And the voices came and went on the billows of air, swiftly turning harsh, demanding, (_And Snape drew Harry back against his chest as the boy shook, and exchanged glances with Albus and Minerva_)._

"_Harry," his mother's voice was soft, disappointed; "Why did you do it, Harry? Why?"_

"_Why, Harry?" his father's voice chimed in. "We gave our lives for you, we sacrificed everything for you; why would you throw it all away like that?"_

_The voices faded, to be replaced by angry yelling._

"_You'll get no lunch or dinner, boy! We don't tolerate freaks like you! Get back in your cupboard - and you'll stay there until you learn your lesson! You're a worthless freak, boy, just like your parents! No one could ever love you! You're a freak... worthless... a worthless freak.. you're a worthless freak!"_

"_Potter..." Quirell's voice sounded odd without the stutter. "Come here, Potter. I want you to get the stone for me... There is no good and evil, Potter... there is only power, and those too cowardly to use it..."_

"_Harry, Harry, Harry..." Tom Riddle's voice was practically dripping condescension, and then it morphed into Voldemort's cold tones. (_Snape's hand flew by reflex to his forearm, and he clenched it in anticipation of the burning Dark Mark.. but the Mark remained dormant, and he slowly relaxed.. _) "We're more alike than you know, Harry. Both orphaned, both abandoned... you can feel the hate inside you, can't you? Burning, eating away at you like acid. The old man knew. He knew what we were going through, knew that it would either break us or make us stronger. Of course, the chances of breaking us were much higher, Harry. Much higher. But precious Dumbledore doesn't think like that, does he? He's lucky you haven't given up already." The voice lowered to malevolent hiss. "He's lucky you haven't turned dark, Harry. It would be so easy; so, so easy, to get your revenge, to make the pain go away, to make them see you for who you really are. Not the worthless boy in the cupboard, not the Golden Boy-Who-Lived; just Harry Potter, brave, scarred Harry Potter, who's been through fifteen years of hell and lived to tell the tale."_

_(_Harry whimpered and buried his head in Snape's chest, clamping his hands over his ears as the voice continued._)_

"_I know what it's like, Harry. As the blows rain down, leaving you helpless, scared, hurting, in the dead of night..." the voice softened, becoming silky, persuasive, "I can help you, Harry. I can make the pain go away. You would be strong, stronger than ever before; no-one would shove you around, you could have revenge, make your aunt and uncle hurt like they hurt you. No one would know.. I can help, Harry... I can help..."_

_The voice faded slowly as they rose out of the Pensieve and back into Dumbledore's office._

Harry was whimpering softly, trembling against Snape's chest as Snape rubbed circles on his back. Slowly the whimpering ceased. Harry stepped back to look up at Snape, and his green eyes were burning, full of hatred and unshed tears, as he snarled, "I hate him. I - hate - him."

He turned back to the Pensieve. "Let's get this over with."

Snape met Dumbledore's eyes soberly, and then they were falling, falling into darkness and pain.

"_Lily, take Harry and run! Go, I'll hold him off!" (_But the voice wasn't that of James Potter; it was his own voice, Snape's voice._)_

_Sounds of yelling and fighting, and then a flash of green light, and Snape lay dead on the floor..._

"_Get back in your cupboard, boy!" But it was Snape, not Vernon Dursley, who was purple-faced with rage, and the boy went flying as he back-handed him viciously across the face..._

_And then it was both Harry and the child-Severus who were backing away from his uncle, and the cupboard door slammed, leaving them bruised and sobbing in the darkness..._

_It was Snape, not Quirrell, in front of the Mirror of Erised, and it was Snape lying half-dead on the cold floor in the Chamber of Secrets, and it was Snape who almost received the Dementor's Kiss before Harry's Patronus chased them off._

_It was Snape who was somehow trampled to death by a Chinese Fireball Dragon, and Snape who drowned during the Second Task._

_It was Snape who cut off his own hand in the graveyard, and it was Snape who tortured Harry, and it was Snape's ghost that held off Voldemort..._

_And then the scene changed, suddenly, frighteningly. (_And Snape wrapped his arms around Harry's chest as Harry trembled and writhed, trying to break free of his hold, trying to break free of the memory.._)_

_They were watching the scene from behind Voldemort's shoulder, (_Snape knew that this was how Harry saw his visions, as though he was a part of Voldemort, sharing the emotions - the anger and the sadistic glee and the euphoria at the pain and suffering he inflicted_ - _and he was thankful he'd had the foresight to provide the nausea suppressant, as the scene unfolded._)_

"_My Lord..._"

_A lone Death Eater knelt before him, head bowed. A shiver of satisfaction coursed through him at the sight, even as he stretched out a long-fingered hand to raise the man's chin._

"_You may rise, my servant." He hooked a finger behind the man's mask and sent it spinning to the ground, revealing greasy hair and black eyes as the man unfolded his lean frame and stood._

"_Severusss..."_

_Voldemort laughed, a high cackling that grated on the ears._

"_Oh, Severusss... You would dare to come here, after what you did?"_

_Snape's eyes were lowered, his face impassive. "My Lord?"_

_And then Snape was on the ground, writhing and screaming as his body arced in pain, and the Dark Lord was laughing as he felt echoes of the pain and took a sadistic pleasure in it, and as he lifted the curse Snape lay there, shuddering, hands clawing the ground until he could slowly, painfully, recover his kneeling position._

"_You betrayed me, Severusss."_

_And Snape was screaming again, before the curse stopped and he lay helpless, panting, trembling with the after-effects._

"_You would dare to betray me..." Voldemort hissed, but he did not cast the curse again._

_Snape managed to gasp, "My Lord - never - I would - never -"_

"_Don't lie to me, Severusss. I know about the Potter brat, I know -" his voice was mocking, "that you care about darling Harry..."_

_He spat. "Sickening. Now, Severus, I want the truth. Tell me the truth, and maybe I'll give you a clean death."_

_Snape's body went rigid for a moment before relaxing. Carefully, he climbed to his feet, standing tall and unbowed before the Dark Lord. He met Voldemort's gaze boldly, eyes filled with loathing, a sneer twisting his lips._

"_I loved Lily Potter." he snarled. "But you took her from me, you - murdered her." The snarl lessened. "And so I took a vow, to protect her child to my last breath."_

"_Yes, I have come to - care - for Harry."_

_A thrill of perverted lust ran through Voldemort. Snape growled._

"_Not like - that, you sick fool. I see him as - as a son, as the son I might have had if it had been I whom Lily married and not that - Gryffindor. I've been training him, you know. He's good, a better fighter even than me."_

_Snape smirked. "By all means, kill me. Harry will hunt you down, fueled by hatred and grief. He will find you, and you - will - die."_

_Voldemort was silent for a moment, and then he laughed._

"_Oh, Severus..." He grinned evilly. "Harry's in my head, right now. He's watching this, watching you. Say hello to your little son, Severus."_

_Snape remained silent._

"_No? Very well."_

_Snape was writhing and screaming on the ground once more._

_(_And Snape tightened his arms around Harry as the boy desperately heaved and bucked, trying to escape the pain and the pleasure and the sadistic glee, and the belief that he, as Voldemort, was the one who had caused it._)_

_And the screaming continued, scream after scream ripping through the air, echoing and swirling for long minutes as Snape thrashed, becoming weaker and weaker. The screaming finally trailed off._

_Snape lay on the ground._

"_Beg for death, Severus."_

_He glared at the Dark Lord through the curtains of hair, panting. "Never."_

_Voldemort chuckled._

"_Imperio. Now, beg for death."_

_Snape went pale, sweat standing out on his forehead as he fought the overwhelming urge to obey. He opened his mouth in a silent snarl, eventually gasping, "Ne-ver."_

_He collapsed as the hold on his mind released._

"_Harry, I do hope you're paying attention."_

_Snape's eyes registered confusion, even as Voldemort raised his wand once more._

"_Legilimens."_

_Snape's back arced in silent pain, hands coming up to claw at his head as he curled into a fetal ball in an effort to defend himself. There was silence for several minutes as he fought mentally - and then there was a drawn-out moan as his shields, weakened by the long torture, fell; and he screamed himself hoarse under the mental attack._

_Voldemort lifted the spell suddenly, leaving Snape semi-conscious, sprawled on the ground._

_His eyes cracked open at last, as the Dark Lord stared down at him._

_Voldemort raised his wand - _

_(_Snape could feel Harry fighting it with everything he had, fighting the overwhelming sense of triumph that echoed and grew from the Dark Lord; and Snape knew that Harry would see this last act as though Harry himself had committed it..._)_

"_Avada Kedavra."_

_There was a flash of green light, and Snape collapsed, eyes wide and sightless._

And as they drew back out of the Pensieve, Harry began to scream.

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	6. Chapter 6

I own nothing, blah blah blah. This chapter dedicated to Melfis for the continued and awesome reviews.

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Harry was bent double, frantically trying to break free of the arms wrapped around his chest as he screamed. Snape held on grimly but stayed silent, knowing that the boy wouldn't absorb anything he said in his current state. Finally the screaming tailed off, and as Harry twisted to face him, Snape could see the heartbreak and the grief and the rage in his eyes, and he braced himself as Harry raised a hand.

He slammed his fist into Snape's chest. "Don't - " the other fist followed suit, "die."

Harry repeated the action, the words flowing faster and faster until it became a sort of pleading chant.

"Don't - die - don't - die - don't - die - don't-die-don't-die-don't-die-don't-die."

Tears were flowing down his face now, and as he slammed his fist one last time in Snape's chest and fell silent, Snape opened his arms.

"Come here, child."

Harry wrapped his arms around Snape and buried his head in his shoulder, shaking with sobs as he poured out his grief and rage and helplessness.

Snape carded a hand through the boy's hair, and met the eyes of Dumbledore and McGonagall with a slight habitual sneer. Minerva was watching Harry with awakened maternal instinct, silent tears running down her cheeks, and Albus looked remarkably solemn.

There was one last hitch in Harry's breathing; he eased back enough to mumble, "'m not a child."

Snape raised a eyebrow. "You're acting like one."

Harry took a step back, glaring up at him defiantly. A silent tremor racked him; then he stood straight. "So I'm telling you, man to man: Don't die, Snape."

Snape studied the boy, seeing the broadening shoulders and solid stance, promise of the growing man beneath. He knew Harry's background, knew how hard he had worked to get to where he was, mentally, physically, and academically. His gaze softened, and he felt a flicker of pride shoot through him. Snape allowed his mouth to form a half-smile as he grasped Harry by the upper arms, looking down into the achingly familiar emerald eyes.

"Harry, you and I both know the answer to that - I don't make promises I can't keep."

He held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to protest.

"That being said... I did, in fact, make a vow to protect you." A crease appeared between his brows as he wondered, yet again, how Harry's unconscious mind had come up with that particular piece of information. His gaze slid to the Pensieve, and he suppressed a shudder as he remembered the ugly moment when they were doing the Fidelus Charm, seeing Harry with the gun to his head. He returned his gaze to the boy.

"It seems, Mr Potter, that you sometimes need protecting even from yourself, and that my being here goes a long way to restoring your self-worth. When I am present, you no longer feel isolated or worthless, am I right? The same could also be said for your friends, Miss Granger and Mr Weasley."

Harry nodded.

"And therefore, I would not be wrong in saying that my absence would be detrimental to your wellbeing. We depend upon each other to some extent."

He bent down, pinning the boy with his eyes, willing him to absorb his words.

"At some risk of sounding tedious, I will repeat what I said earlier. I will be there with you. I will be there for you. And I will do my damnedest to help you get through this."

The green eyes blinked and filled with tears.

Snape rolled his eyes. "All right, calm down, no need to go all Hufflepuff emotional on me."

He gently pushed Harry back into his chair and moved to stand behind him, compulsively - maybe it was just habit, now - resting his hands lightly on the boy's shoulders. He felt Harry stiffen impossibly under his hands, his entire body going rigid -

_- Harry wondered if Snape knew that he was standing exactly where Sirius had stood at the end of last year, after Cedric had died and Voldemort had returned and Crouch had tried to kill him, when he'd limped here bloody and bruised, emotionally scarred, to relive the events of the graveyard as he told the tale to Dumbledore - _

- And then he relaxed, sinking back into the armchair with a grateful sigh. Snape glanced down at him curiously, wondering at the reaction, but decided to leave the issue alone for now.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"You may or not be aware - " he began, speaking mainly to Harry and Minerva, "that Professor Snape and myself have had significant experience in the realm of the human psyche: I on account of my age, he on account of his - ah - extra-curricular activities."

The old man motioned for Snape to continue the story.

"I found it... prudent." Snape murmured silkily. "My background, combined with my role as double agent and merely having to deal with hormonal teenagers on a daily basis... It was a vested interest. As a matter of fact, I have qualifications in both Muggle and Wizarding Psychology."

He took a deep breath, mentally bracing himself. His thumbs began to rub idle circles on the back of Harry's neck, relieving the tension.

"Using our expertise, Professor Dumbledore and myself have been - formulating, theorizing, piecing together symptoms and reactions: things such as the sudden onset of this condition, the intense focus of it, even the nausea."

Snape's eyes were carefully focussed an inch and a half above Dumbledore's left shoulder.

"This - illness - has been brewing for a long time, most likely years. As near as we can determine, it was triggered by the week spent in the Room of Requirement, and then aggravated by some event since then."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry scrub the back of his hand, where scrawled scars showed, raised and raw. _Aha. _A wave of protective anger surged through him, but he forced himself to not to react, locking away the emotions until he had a chance to _really _confront Umbridge.

"Harry - you know earlier, when you said it was your, and I quote, 'subconscious, or something?'"

The dark head nodded.

Snape kept his voice calm. "You weren't far off. What you are going through is called an unconscious psychological breakdown. More accurately, it is a psychological breakdown _of _your unconscious."

Harry was silent.

"All the things you do without thinking about them - breathing, blinking, keeping your heart beating and blood flowing through your veins - that is handled by your subconscious mind. But when your waking, _conscious_ mind goes to sleep, when _you _go to sleep - that is when your _un_conscious goes to work, filing and storing memories, dealing with the emotions and the stress of the day. _Your_ unconscious mind is - experiencing difficulties."

"_Experiencing_. _Difficulties_." Harry made a bitter sound, somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "I'm having a _mental breakdown._" His breathing sped up and a slight breeze started to blow through the room. The portraits on the walls rattled. The wind dropped abruptly, and there was a moment of dead silence as Harry gathered himself and _focussed_ - and his glass shattered.

Harry slumped back in his chair.

"Right, yeah, well - thanks anyway." He twisted in his seat to look up at Snape. "Sir, could you sit down, please? I can't _see _you there."

Snape angled his chair toward Harry and sat without comment.

"Thank you." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "So - what happens now?"

Snape clasped his hands together and leant forward.

"What happens now, Mr Potter, is this: you will start experiencing hallucinations within the next twenty-four hours. These hallucinations will rapidly grow in both depth and breadth until you are essentially living in a dreamscape."

"Doesn't sound too bad..." Harry muttered cautiously. Snape looked at him.

"This state will continue for an undetermined period of time, as your unconscious readies itself for the last stage. When it is - prepared, you will slip into a deep sleep, much like a sort of hibernation, thereby allowing your unconscious to purge and rebuild itself."

There was a long pause.

"You said an - undetermined - period of time?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded. "From previous studies, it could be anywhere from - a couple of days, to a week or more. It is, however, extremely unlikely that it will exceed two weeks." He paused to let this sink in before continuing, "We will need to keep a close eye on you. The Headmaster has agreed to help us set up the Room of Requirement for that purpose."

"But what about my classes?"

McGonagall spoke up. "You are currently in the Hospital Wing, suffering a minor relapse of - " her lips quirked - "spattergroit. Two days from now, you will diagnosed with infected wounds, and confined to a private room until you are fully recovered."

"Yellow spattergroit, Potter." Snape smirked.

"Indeed." McGonagall continued, "In the Room of Requirement, you will be in a separate room from those observing you. There will be no way for anyone or anything to get in or out of your room, even if you should wish it, save for a single door connected to the observation room. For safety purposes, your wand will be kept with the observers, and there will be certain limits on what you can ask of the Room - for example, no knives."

She caught Harry's look, and said impatiently, "Oh, honestly, Potter; you're having what you so aptly termed a _mental breakdown_. Do you really expect us to freely give you means to self-harm or even suicide?" Calming down, she continued, "There will be a recording device running at all times, and three people working on a rota - two of them watching while the third rests. As to who the three observers are, you shall, of course, have some say in the matter."

Snape murmured, "The Room will provide for your needs - food, bathroom, and the like. It will also be spelled to reflect your hallucinations. As such, the observers will be able to see whatever you see, whether fictional or real. Many of your hallucinations will naturally be - "

"Violent? Tragic? Highly embarrassing?" Harry quipped. Snape quelled him with a look.

" - of a sensitive nature; therefore I suggest that you think carefully about who you would trust with your deepest, darkest secrets."

Harry nodded and caught his eye. "Well, you, obviously."

Snape gazed at him for a moment, feeling inexplicably thrown. He'd known the boy trusted him, to some level, but _this?_ His lip curled as he imagined James Potter turning in his grave; it was almost worth the weight of responsibility he suddenly felt.

Snape drawled, with heavy irony, "Obviously." His tone changed: he said briskly, "As it happens, there are a myriad of excuses at my disposal to explain my absence, so that will not be a problem. Who else?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Remus, if he's available."

Dumbledore nodded. "The full moon was only last week; I'll get in touch and see if he can be here by tonight."

The boy grinned before quickly becoming serious. "Sirius?"

"No." Snape stately flatly.

"Too dangerous - " Dumbledore said.

"Yes he is - "

" - _for him_ - "

" - Not to mention the fact that we'd kill each other by the second day."

Harry blinked. "Um, okay. Hermione?"

"Adults, Potter."

"Oh - right." He chewed his lip for a long while. "I don't know - Tonks?"

Snape snorted even as Harry shook his head. "No, you're right. Uh... Moody?"

"Too busy."

Harry frowned and admitted ruefully, "I'm running out of people."

"You don't trust easily, do you, Harry?" Snape asked softly.

Harry looked at him, irritated. "You really expect me to? My own aunt and uncle abused me: when I came here, hoping for safety, most everyone's only interested in what the Boy-Who-Lived can do for them. Every Defence teacher I've had so far has tried to harm me: two of them were intimately connected to Voldemort - "

He ignored Snape's flinch.

"Quirrell had his snake-face _growing out the back of his head, _for Merlin's sake! And after last year, we all know how easy it is to Polyjuice or Imperius someone. So tell me, just why should I trust easily?"

Snape looked at him for a moment before murmuring, "I never said you should. If anything, you have more reason than anyone to be distrustful."

McGonagall broke in, "May I make a suggestion? One of the Weasleys, perhaps?"

Harry looked confused, "But - you said only adults, and their parents'll be too busy - "

She chuckled. "Potter, there are more than four Weasley children, you know. I was thinking of William, actually."

Harry blinked. "Oh - Bill. Yeah... yeah, that'd be good. Thanks."

McGonagall nodded gracefully.

Snape cleared his throat and waited for Harry to focus on him.

"Harry - I don't know if you've fully realised what will happen in there. Your - memories, nightmares, hallucinations - the lines will blur. You might be reliving your memories, you might be stuck in a completely fictional hallucination, you might simply be living out day-to-day life - we just don't know, and it's highly likely that you won't either, even when you're right in the middle of it all. You might even remember any suppressed memories, in the event that you bothered to suppress any, which I rather doubt. Simply put, it will be hell."

Harry's lip quirked. "Now why does that sound familiar?"

"_Potter_." Snape took a breath. "Now, I'll be keeping a eye on you - Merlin, I'll be watching you as closely as if I were your blasted father, _I will be scrutinising your every step - _understand?"

Harry nodded, looking a little daunted.

Snape sighed, aware he hadn't explained himself well. "The point is, fawn - " Harry's ears perked up, "I can't be in that room with you."

Harry looked at him for a long moment before closing his eyes wearily and nodding. "I know."

"I can stay with you until the hallucinations start, and then I will have to leave. Bill, Lupin and I will be next door if anything goes wrong. Nothing will." He added bracingly as Harry looked worried.

Snape stood, and clapped a hand on his back as Harry rose.

"Shall we go, then? The Headmaster will contact Lupin, Professor McGonagall will get in touch with Mr Weasley, and I'm sure someone will inform your friends so there will be no unfortunate run-ins with that - with Umbridge."

Harry grinned at his purposeful slip and followed him to the Floo.

Within minutes, they were standing in the Room of Requirement.

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	7. Chapter 7

JKR owns it, not me. I have a feeling I'll probably drop back to one update a week - keeps it a bit more regular that way.

At the moment I'm kinda at a loss for where this is going once they get out of the Room - suggestions, epileptic trees, etc are welcome ^^

Review! C'mon, people, I've got soo many alerts and favourite stories it isn't funny, and I get maybe three reviews a chapter if I'm lucky! Please! I'm begging you! =D

Alright, on with it...

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Harry watched the man beside him carefully as Snape showed him around - not that there was much to see, really.

"This is your room." Strange how the words still gave him a possessive thrill. And the room was big - about the size of the average classroom - and bare, with polished wood floors and stone walls.

Snape opened the only door and ushered him through. The observation room was smaller, maybe half the size of his, with floor-to-ceiling windows set in the wall between the two rooms. Harry looked at them nervously, his brain suddenly reminding him that he was going to be under scrutiny twenty-four hours a day, every day, for the next Merlin-knew-how-long. He looked away hurriedly.

There was a short breakfast-bar type bench in front of the left half of the window, with three high stools tucked away under it. The rest of the window was kept clear for a sort of lounge area, with two couches and a number of armchairs arranged to give uninterrupted views of the next room.

Two doors in the back wall led to a bathroom and bunkroom, and a third provided external access.

"The windows won't be visible from your side: no need to give you anything more to worry about. Of course, as observers we will not leave these rooms; after all, that would hardly be looking after you, now, would it?" Snape smirked. "The external door is merely in case of emergency."

_Emergency. Sure. _Harry swallowed nervously.

He trudged back out to the other room - _his room - _and looked around blankly. It all seemed a bit surreal, really - he was going to be spending days trapped in a dreamscape, no human contact, nothing but his own dreams and nightmares. It would be worse than last month - at least then he'd had Snape. Even if they hadn't gotten along, it was better than nothing - and now that they'd finally found some sort of rapport, had finally begun to trust each other... It was worse, somehow, now that he needed Snape more than ever, knowing the man couldn't be there.

Harry slid down the wall, to sit leaning against it.

_He's still there. He's just not - there._

_Yeah. Right._

_Get a grip. You've gone through things like this alone before, why is this such a big deal?_

Harry sighed, realising he didn't have the answer.

He blinked, and realised Snape had followed him through from the observation room. The man was frowning down at him, albeit with a spark of concern in his eyes. Without a word, Snape joined him on the floor.

Harry bit back a smirk. _Severus Snape. Sitting on the floor._

"Something funny?" Snape said dryly.

Harry grinned and shook his head.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

They went back to contemplating the room.

Harry bit his lip, still staring across the room, and said suddenly, "I'm scared."

He could feel Snape's scrutiny. After a moment, the man drew his legs up and loosely clasped his arms around them. "That's nothing to be ashamed of."

Harry flicked his gaze to Snape and back to the opposite wall.

Snape continued, "You've succeeded in situations where grown men would have failed. Yes, it makes you a brave, courageous young man; but it also makes the responsibility that much greater. It makes the what-if's that much more.. potent."

He twisted the ring on his finger. "That may be the content of some hallucinations. What-if this, or what-if that. What would have have happened... It will be torture, I'm sorry to say. My only advice is not to get caught up in it once this is over. What's done is done. There's no changing the past." His lip curled in a bitter smile. "Take it from someone who knows."

They looked at each other for a moment. Snape tilted his head back to rest against the wall.

"Harry... I'll be here, alright? I'm not going anywhere. Trust me on this."

Harry smiled. "I know. Thanks."

Snape nodded curtly. "And if you need any more reassurance, best consult the wolf. He's better at the emotional babble than I."

There was movement in the doorway.

"You called?"

Harry looked up, and felt a rush of warmth. "Remus!"

The older man laughed and ruffled his hair. "No, no, don't get up, Harry."

He eased himself down to sit on the other side of Harry. After a moment, he asked softly, "How bad is it?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally.

Snape said, "It's bad."

Remus nodded. "Albus explained the.. situation."

"I've been through worse." Harry murmured. "Well - relatively speaking, that is. At least I know I'm not in any real danger. It's all in my head."

The two men exchanged glances over his head.

"Says the boy who uses grief as an Occlumency shield." Snape commented, without any real malice. "Potter, your mind is directly linked to the Dark Lord's. That has got to be one of the _least _safe places I know."

Harry shrugged, and as a way of changing the subject, held out a hand. _I need a glass of water. _It appeared, and he drank a mouthful.

"Harry - "

"Potter - "

Remus and Snape were staring at him.

Harry looked at them. "What?"

Snape lifted the glass from his hand, sniffed it, cautiously dipped a finger in, looked at it, wiped it on his trousers, and finally took an experimental sip.

After a moment, he said, "Congratulations, Mr Potter. You've just bypassed the first Principal Exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration."

Harry repeated blankly, "What?"

"You can't make food out of nothing." Remus explained. "At least, you're not meant to be able to..."

Harry blinked. "Oh. But - " he turned to Snape, "You said the Room would provide for my needs - like food and stuff. I just assumed - "

Snape held up a hand. "Understandable. As it happens, I was merely repeating what the Headmaster told me." He thought for a minute. "I would guess Dumbledore has somehow linked the Room with the Kitchens. The Room will take the initiative in figuring out what you want, and the Kitchens will provide you with anything the Room cannot, such as food and drink."

Harry grinned. "Brilliant. I wonder what else it can do..."

He held out a hand. _Sword? _A piece of parchment appeared in his hand. _Sorry, no._

_Butterbeer? _A bottle appeared. He passed it to Remus.

_Carpet? _Another note appeared - _Be specific. _

_Carpet, deep red, comfy._

Remus jumped as the thick carpet sprouted and grew from the floor.

"Consider asking for them aloud, Potter." Snape drawled.

Harry smirked. "You just want to be in on the fun."

Snape looked at him. "Alright then." He thought for a moment. "Wine, red: early eighteen-hundreds. Surprise me." A glass appeared in his hand and filled. Snape sipped and nodded approval. "Superb."

Harry had a thought. "You said the Room was spelled to reflect my hallucinations."

"Yes..."

"But - all of this - these aren't hallucinations. This is just - the Room."

Remus gestured for him to continue.

"So - where's the line? I mean - if I can think of food, and be able to eat it, then it's real, right? So what's to stop me hallucinating being killed, or whatever, and then that's real too, and I actually - " he stopped, unable to say the word.

"Die? You won't." Snape said confidently. "However, you do raise a very good point. As soon as you start hallucinating, the Room will no longer respond to your conscious mind, but rather it will respond to your _un_conscious mind."

Harry groaned.

"There's bound to be a period where it swings back and forth, as you slowly fall into the dreamscape. But the reflections will not be real. That's all they are - reflections, projections of your mind. They will appear solid enough - you should be able to feel them and therefore physically fight them if need be. But any injuries received, any pain inflicted will also only be projections - no doubt your mind will choose to heal you when appropriate. Yes, it will seem real, because you'll be right in the thick of it, running off adrenaline much of the time; in fact it would be easier to think of it as real, not to fight the memories. Let the hallucinations run their course."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "Are you seriously asking me to just - _accept _that this is going to happen? Not to fight it, just be - passive? I'm a _Gryffindor, _for Merlin's sake! We don't _do _passive!"

Snape looked at him knowingly. "You're half Slytherin. Fighting it would be a waste of effort. And besides, " he murmured, as if quoting, "_the better part of valour is discretion._"

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Yeats again?"

"Shakespeare."

_Eye roll. _"Of course. Any other wise words?"

"A plethora. But - "

There was a movement in the corner. As one, they surged to their feet, wands raised, Snape and Remus angled to flank Harry.

Through a rush of adrenaline, Harry noted the carpet had disappeared, as had the wine and butterbeer. _Sod._

"It's a hallucination." he stated.

Snape nodded grimly and raised his voice. "Show yourself!"

The shadows moved, allowing a deeper shadow to float forward.

Harry swallowed. Darkness, despair, grey scabby skin...

"Dementor." Remus said.

Harry added, "Or a boggart."

"True. Harry, I rather fancy this is your domain."

He nodded and stepped forward, taking a deep breath to steady himself. _Focus... the smell of spring rain, the warmth of sunshine on bare skin, the sound of laughter..._

He raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

White light erupted from his wand, swirling and merging until a stag stood before him. Harry grinned at it.

"Well, go on then."

The stag snorted at him and charged the Dementor, which retreated into the shadows and disappeared.

"Lumos."

Harry dispelled the shadows, checking to make sure the Dementor was gone. He nodded and turned back.

"Good job." Remus commended him; Snape contented himself with a nod of acknowledgment.

"Now, I believe this is where we take our leave."

Harry felt a stab of fear. "What, already?"

Remus gripped his shoulder. "Bill will be here soon, and you know we can't stay with you, Harry. You'll be fine."

Harry turned to look at Snape, eyes pleading.

The man held out his hand. "Wand, Potter."

Harry felt a surge of rebellion, but it passed as quickly as it had come. He handed his wand over without protest.

"What if there's another Dementor? I can't cast a Patronus without my wand."

"Remember, the Room reflects your mind. All you need to do is have a wand in hand, _in your mind_. Don't think about it - trust your instincts."

Harry swallowed and nodded.

Snape looked at him for a moment, worry showing in the dark eyes. With a sudden growl, he opened his arms and gathered Harry close.

Harry shut his eyes, memorising the feel of arms around him, inhaling the scent of safety - cinnamon and dittany and a hint of something else... _Asphodel, of course; _he smiled. _It's a type of Lily._

The moment passed: Snape eased back and carded a hand through his hair, whispering roughly "Take care, fawn"; Remus grasped his shoulder again and gave him a tense smile; and then they were gone, the door fading into the wall, leaving him alone.

* * *

Review, review, review. Thank you. ^^


	8. Chapter 8

_Insert Standard Disclaimer Here. I don't own it._

Warning: Dark Themes. (Violence, Suicide.) - Seriously, we're going into his _unconscious mind_, guys. Were you really expecting lollipops and rainbows?

* * *

Harry surveyed the room blankly, feeling decidedly unprepared without his wand.

_Trust your instincts._

He thought for a moment, and held out a hand.

_11 inches, holly and phoenix feather... I need my wand._

A comforting weight settled into his hand. He grinned and pocketed it.

"Alright then." Harry strode further into the room. "Now what?"

There was no answer.

Harry sighed. _Might as well do something productive. _"I need my homework."

Writing formed on the end wall. _Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, or Defence?_

"Defence. And writing like that is extremely creepy and reminds me of the Chamber of Secrets. You're not supposed to be sentient."

_You're standing in a Room that produces whatever you wish for as soon you wish for it. You are at Hogwarts. What did you expect?_

Harry ignored the question. "Can I just have my homework, please?"

The writing faded, and a pile of parchment, quills, ink, and the standard book of _Defensive Magical Theory_ appeared on the floor. "Thank you."

An hour and a half later, Harry had finished his essay on _Explain in depth the importance of avoiding conflict and if possible retreating from battle_. He'd covered all valid points, such as _If or When a situation arises in which a Dark Lord has risen from the grave and is subsequently attempting to murder you, by all means try and run away; _and _In the event of a Death Eater masquerading as a Hogwarts Professor and said Death Eater is about to kill you, stay calm and await help._

Harry was now extremely bored.

"Room?"

_Yes, Mr Potter?_

"I still don't know if you're a hallucination or not, but I've decided it doesn't really matter. I need your help."

_Very well._

"I'd like to do some practical defence work. Could you make me some sort of training dummy?"

A humanoid shape formed and solidified, reminiscent of a greek sculpture. Harry bit back a grin.

"Some clothes would be good."

The dummy now had a generic face, black pants and a white shirt.

"Thanks. Um.. can it move around? Give it an area of, say," he debated for a moment, "a twenty foot circle around me."

_Done._

"Have it fire some minor curses at me - Jelly-Legs or that sort of thing. Nothing too tricky."

_I can give it a certain skill level. That would adjust the level of the spells and its level of experience._

"That'd be great. Set the skill level to fifth-year Hogwarts student. And I don't want silly they-get-one-shot, i-get-one-shot. Make it a free-for-all. No holds barred. Okay?"

_As you wish. Begin in 30 seconds._

Harry rolled his neck and shoulders, relieving the tension, and raised his wand.

_3_

_2_

_1_

He ducked and rolled to the side, coming up into a crouch as the dummy realised his first jinx had gone astray and spun to face him. Harry fired a stunner, muttered an expletive as the dummy dodged it, and the next ten minutes were a furious skirmish that ended with Harry lying flat on his front with the wind knocked out of him.

Harry looked up...

and up...

into the smiling face of Lucius Malfoy.

_Oh. Heck._

Firm hands grabbed his shoulders and hauled him upright. Harry forced the panic down and met Malfoy's eyes steadily, knowing that whatever came next would not be pleasant.

The first blow came out of nowhere, striking his ribs with enough force to make him gasp. The second cut a deep slash down his forearm, and the third almost shattered his kneecap, bringing tears to his eyes. He sagged, but the iron grip on his arms kept him upright and defenceless.

Harry bit his lip, determined not to scream, not to give them the satisfaction.

He closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness as the beating continued, as his body was bruised and sliced open and his bones cracked and broke, as tears ran unheeded down his cheeks and blood dripped from his nose and mouth and flowed from numerous wounds.

He opened his eyes when the torture ceased, glared defiantly at Malfoy through a rapidly bruising black eye, and whispered through cracked lips, "You think that's pain?"

He spat blood and laughed, a harsh, grating sound even to his own ears. "That doesn't hold a candle to your mate Voldemort."

Malfoy's face darkened dangerously, and then his wand came up and a single word issued from between his lips:

"Crucio."

And Harry's only thought, as he drowned in a sea of red, as his blood boiled in his veins, as the pressure built and built and _built _until he thought he might explode, was: _now _this_ is pain._

He could dimly hear himself screaming, his body thrashing and writhing on the floor under the onslaught, every nerve on fire and in agony, and the pain went on...

and on...

and on...

and then the curse was lifted, and he lay there shuddering and panting, and the pain slowly - _so slowly, so slowly _- faded.

Harry looked up, and a hoarse whisper emerged from his damaged throat.

"I've had worse."

The pain was back, and this time when it stopped he simply lay there, aching and trembling and trying to stifle his sobs, because it hurt just to breathe, let alone cry, and he was certain he'd lose consciousness if he even tried to move...

On the other hand, peaceful oblivion was looking quite welcoming at the moment.

And then his head was jerked up and a potion forced down his throat, and he was suddenly painfully awake.

"We're not finished yet, Potter." Malfoy drawled. "It would really be quite rude of you to leave the party early."

He was hauled to his feet, and he didn't even try to stifle his yell of pain as every bruise and cut and broken bone clamored for attention. A wave of dizziness washed over him, leaving pure agony in its wake.

Malfoy chuckled. "And now the fun begins."

He signaled, and a Death Eater stepped forward, unceremoniously dropping their burden to the ground.

"No!"

Harry lunged, only to be dragged back as the iron grip closed once more on his arms.

Mrs Figg looked up at him, a horrifying hopefulness on her face, even as a half-remembered phrase flashed through his mind and echoed around the room:

_You can't save everyone..._

Malfoy was speaking, "... senile old bat, not to mention she's a Squib. Not even worth practising a Cruciatus on. _Avada Kedavra._"

The words were spoken carelessly, casually. There was a flash of green light, and she was lying on the floor, sightless eyes still staring at him, through him, as the next hostage was brought forward.

_Colin..._

Within minutes of the first blow the boy was curled on the floor, screaming and sobbing.

_Too easy, _Harry thought, _he's broken too soon, _and then felt a wave of guilt.

Colin's body soon joined Mrs Figg's, and time ebbed and flowed as more prisoners came and were tortured and died. The Death Eaters were vicious, sometimes spending hours torturing a single person, watching him for a reaction. Harry wept, tears of grief and rage and guilt, tears for those who died for him, died because of him; it was all his fault, really. If he wasn't alive none of this would have happened, none of them would have died.

And the grief and the guilt grew until there was no room for rage, and the guilt lay heavy on his shoulders until the grief had fled under the burden, and then there was just guilt.

Just vast, consuming guilt.

Eventually there were no tears left to cry, and Harry watched through aching eyes as the bodies piled higher, all staring at him with the same accusing look in their eyes.

_It's all your fault, _they seemed to say. _None of this would have happened if it weren't for you. Our families will mourn us; ripped apart by our death they will turn on you, because you caused this massacre. It's all your fault._

Harry just wanted it to all to end, but the line of hostages seemed never-ending, and he was too numb to even react when the next prisoner was brought forward.

_Dean..._

_Seamus..._

_Neville..._

_Luna..._

_Ginny..._

_Remus..._

_Sirius..._

And then Ron was there, and Malfoy turned to him and said something - Harry couldn't hear what, his ears seemed to have given up along with the rest of him. A feeling of overwhelming peace enveloped him, and he just wanted it all to end, and if this was the only for it to be over then so be it.

Harry raised his wand, there was a flash of green light, and Ron was on the floor, dead. A voice at the back of his mind whispered, _just one more, _and Hermione joined the pile of bodies.

And then he was falling to his knees, and the feeling of peace was gone, to be replaced by numbing guilt - he couldn't remember why he felt so guilty, but he obviously deserved it, he must have done _something _to earn the heavy weight on his conscience. Someone was pressing a knife into his hand, and he took it without a word and set it to his wrist, just wanting it all to be over...

"_You MUST stay ALIVE, Potter!_"

The knife went flying as he came back to himself with a startled gasp, and his ears were roaring as the stench of blood and death hit his sinuses, and he closed his eyes against the assault of images and doubled over and vomited. He was groaning, weeping once more at the thought of what he'd done, and when there was nothing left to vomit, he heaved up bile and then blood: and the voice had awoken a tremulous hope in him, because there was someone they'd forgotten about, someone who was still alive, somewhere, someone who wasn't dead because of him...

But then a hand jerked him around, and the Death Eater with the iron grip was flinging off his mask and sneering at him with a look of absolute loathing...

_Snape..._

And it was worse than if he'd merely been a hostage, worse than if he'd been dead: with this final betrayal Harry's mind shut down, and he accepted the knife and slashed his arms from wrist to elbow, collapsing on the cold stone floor as he bled out, surrounded by the bodies of his friends and family, _dead because of him, _and he sank into a black oblivion...

* * *

R.e.v.i.e.w.s. m.a.k.e. m.y. d.a.y./.w.e.e.k/.m.o.n.t.h.

=D


	9. Chapter 9

JKR owns it.

This one feels more like a filler-chapter... dunno why. Ah well.

Reviews are the best - speaking of which, I only had 2 reviews for the last chapter. You're slipping =P

Enjoy =)

* * *

Snape sipped his wine as he watched Harry sleep. The Death Eaters, the corpses, and the wounds had all faded, leaving just the boy, curled up in a sleep of exhaustion on the floor. Of course, it wasn't a real sleep - his unconscious would be plaguing him even now with the memory of what he'd done. He would wake soon, and be catapulted into another nightmare - but for now, he slept.

And speaking of sleeping...

Snape smirked as his gaze swept the room.

Weasley sat beside him at the high bench, eyes dark with concern as he kept a watch over the sleeping boy.

Lupin was sprawled asleep on the couch, red-rimmed eyes and the frowning crease between his brows testament to just how much of the boy's torture he'd witnessed and taken to heart.

Weasley's reaction had been dampened by the fact that he hadn't seen Harry in over two years. Snape himself fell back on his training to temper the raging emotions; Lupin, however, had had no such training, and could only watch in horror, silent tears running down his cheeks as his cub was mauled and driven to suicide.

The three of them had watched the final hours of the torture, and once Harry was sleeping, they'd bullied Remus into sleeping too. Snape had dosed him with Dreamless Sleep to keep the nightmares at bay; the wolf had refused to use the bunkroom, wanting to be as close to Harry as possible, and had finally collapsed onto the couch as the potion took hold.

Bill and Snape had returned to their vigil.

"Severus." the low whisper came from the Weasley boy, calling him attention back to the Mind Room, as they'd dubbed it.

Harry was moving.

* * *

Harry jolted awake, breath coming in gasps, and scrambled backward until his back hit the wall. The nightmare was sitting in the forefront of his mind, reminding him with crystal clarity of his actions. Shaking, he hastily ran a hand over his torso - no signs of bruised or cracked ribs - and checked his forearms - no blood, no cuts, just smooth, unmarred flesh.

_O...kay..._

So somehow, sometime when he was asleep - _he'd thought he was dead_ - his body had healed itself.

No, not just healed - resurrected.

Even accidental magic couldn't do that.

Hmmm. A conundrum wrapped in a mystery.

_Right._

Harry shoved the dream - and the mystery - to the back of his mind, and turned his attention to the room.

Stone floor, stone walls... what's that painting?

Ah. Fifth floor corridor.

Harry stood carefully, testing his legs. They seemed fine.

He started walking, looking out the first window he came to, and saw that it was night-time. It was a full fifteen minutes before he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and before he could hazard a guess at the password, it swung open...

... and hung there for a minute with a susurration of whispers and movement...

... and swung closed.

"Harry?" the whisper came out of thin air.

"Hermione?"

Something grabbed his hand and dragged him around the corner, and then the cloak was pulled off and Hermione and Ron were grinning at him in the dim light.

"Mate, where were you?" Ron carried on before he could get a word in. "Doesn't matter. C'mon, we're going down the trapdoor tonight."

"Wha - "

"Oh, Harry, honestly, you _can't _have forgotten!" At his helpless look Hermione sighed. "Hurry up and get under the cloak."

"Yeah, no telling which teacher's on patrol tonight." Ron added.

And before Harry could protest they were huddled together under the cloak.

"Now, hush, you two." Hermione said firmly.

They made their way in near-silence to the third floor, and with a whispered _Alohomora_ the door swung open, they hurried inside, and the door shut behind them.

There was a warning growl from Fluffy, even as Harry cast _Lumos_ and the room lit up. Hermione already had the flute out, and at a nervous nod from Harry, she lifted it to her mouth and started to play.

As music filled the air, the growl was repeated, and the sound of heavy breathing intensified as the dog moved closer.

"Come _on, _'Mione..." Ron was shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and kept playing, even as they backed slowly toward the door. Harry felt dread rise in his stomach as Fluffy advanced.

"It isn't working." He reached behind them, twisting the doorknob cautiously. It wouldn't open. He tried several unlocking charms. Nothing.

"We're trapped." With a sense of desperation, he raised his wand and took a step toward the dog -

And Fluffy sprang, knocking Hermione to the ground even as Harry's _stupefy_ whistled past his shoulder. The massive claws were tearing into her chest, and she shrieked once - twice - and then the dog turned with a growl as a bolt of red light hit him.

"Hermione! Are you - "

"Look out!"

Fluffy was barreling toward them, mouths salivating as all three heads focused on Ron. He was oblivious to the bolts of lights hitting his chest and flanks, and Ron went down with a yell, head smacking the floor hard, and Harry felt sick as he saw the blood started to flow.

_No..._

Ron had fallen silent, and the only sound was the dull tearing of flesh... And then Fluffy was advancing toward Harry with a malevolent gleam in his eyes. Harry raised his wand and fired a barrage of spells - the dog yelped as his knee joints reversed, and he was bleeding from a long gash on his side, but then he crashed into Harry, bringing them both to the ground.

The last thing Harry knew was the overwhelming stench of dog breath, and then everything went black...

"-ry?"

Someone was shaking him.

"Harry!"

His head hurt.

"_Harry! Wake up!_"

His eyes flew open, and he saw Ron hovering over him, looking relieved.

"Harry! Good, you're awake."

Harry frowned. "You-? What-?"

"You fainted. Come on, the dog's asleep, we've gotta get down the trapdoor."

Harry blinked, confused. "I - died. _You _died. Hermione - " He looked around frantically, and spotted her leaning over his other side.

He took a deep breath.

"We - died?" It was a question now.

Ron gave him a funny look. "Nah mate. Reckon you've hit your head a bit harder than we thought. You fainted, that's all."

_Ha. Fainted. Right._

_Accept it. Move on._

Harry nodded. "Sure."

They helped him to his feet, eased the trapdoor open, and fell into darkness.

He landed on something soft and squishy, and judging by the noises from the other two, they were trying to do the same thing he was: namely, escape.

"Everybody relax." The terse order came from Hermione, in a tone reminiscent of Molly Weasley.

Harry froze.

A soft blue light filled the chamber, revealing the _soft and squishy_ to be a giant plant.

_Well, at least that hadn't changed. _Harry just hoped he had enough leeway to perform the wrist movements...

"Incendio!"

Flames poured from his wand, setting the Snare alight as it recoiled. Harry scrambled away, rolling off onto the floor with a dull _thump_, and turned back to see Ron and Hermione close behind him. They backed away from the burning plant, watching until it had shriveled and been reduced to ashes.

"What _was_ that?" Hermione asked.

"Devil's Snare." Harry replied curtly, adrenaline still pumping through his system. "Likes the dark and damp, hates light and fire."

_And a fairly harmless plant; why didn't they use, I don't know, Mandrakes or Venomous Tentaculas? Would've had a lot higher chance of deterring thieves..._

Ron opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "How'd you know what it was?"

Harry blinked at him, and then said blankly, "Call it a lucky guess. C'mon, let's go."

They moved through into the next room, where the flying keys were - well, flying.

"So we have to use the brooms..." Ron grinned.

"To catch the key..." Hermione continued.

"Or we could just do this: _accio real door key._" Harry rolled his eyes and caught the key as it flew into his outstretched hand. "Honestly, these defences are _pitiful._"

McGonagall's chess room had a small surprise for them: aside from the fact that the pieces were all life-size statues of people they knew, their places were predetermined. Harry took the place of the White King, Hermione and Ron the knights. Dumbledore was the bishop closest to Harry, and Members of the Order filled out the remainder of the white side.

The majority of the Black pieces were Death Eaters, with Voldemort himself playing Black King. The identity of the Queens on both sides remained a secret until half-way through, although Harry had guessed - _stealthy, quick as lightning, able to be practically anywhere when needed: yup, I knew it._

The reveal came when the White Queen stepped onto the square where the Black Queen was standing, and the figures merged and melded into one, checkered, figure, that had to take orders from both sides. Snape.

The game ended with both Ron and Hermione having to sacrifice themselves, to allow Harry to win the game and advance.

"Guys? You alright?" Harry called.

There was muffled swearing from the edge of the board, and then Ron shouted back, "We're fine, Harry; 'Mione's got a bit of a bung wrist, but we'll manage. Get going!"

"Alright, thanks you two."

"G'luck!"

Harry took a deep breath and stepped into the next chamber -

- carrying his momentum forward into a roll as he caught a rush of movement on his right -

and then his wand was up and he caught the troll between the eyes with an adrenaline-powered _stupefy_, and it collapsed.

He prodded it with a foot, feeling rather anti-climactic.

Shrugging, Harry walked across the room and into the next chamber - Snape's, if he remembered correctly.

He saw at once that the test had changed drastically.

_This isn't right..._

There was a single bottle on the table.

Approaching it cautiously, he found a piece of parchment lying next to it, and read it aloud, stomach churning.

_ In living you die, in dying you live,_

_ If you wish to advance, then your life freely give._

Harry eyed the bottle with some misgiving. The liquid was a purple-black colour, thick and gloopy.

He unstoppered it and lifted it to his nose, inhaling slowly.

Pure belladonna.

Pure poison.

Pure death.

Or perhaps... life.

He read over the note again, nodding to himself, then lifted the bottle and drained in one long gulp.

The effect was immediate.

Harry collapsed to the floor, arms wrapped around himself, agonizing cramps shooting through his abdomen as the poison took hold. Pressure was building behind his eyes, and he moaned and retched as the cramps spread. Tremors wracked his body, and he curled in a ball, eyes shut tight against the building pressure, but there was no escape from the horrendous pain, no escape from the blinding agony, and white light exploded and then faded...

But he was alive, and the pain was gone suddenly.

Harry opened his eyes and stood, seeing that a door had formed in the wall, and he turned the knob and stepped through into the final chamber.

* * *

R:E:V:I:E:W! =D


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry for the delay, this chapter just wasn't working for me: I literally only finished it ten minutes ago!

Chapter's a few hundred words shorter than usual... But I thought you'd prefer an update to waiting another week for a longer chapter=P

I'm not JKR, obviously, so I don't own it...

Leave me ideas for some more nightmares in your reviews and I'll pick a couple to chuck into the story - best ideas win the prize!

Thanks.

* * *

Harry stepped through the door -

- and into Snape's quarters.

The man himself was sitting in an armchair by the fire, and turned a sardonic eye on him.

"Surprised, Potter?"

Harry bit back a laugh and shook his head, making his way to the couch. "Honestly, I don't think I could be surprised right now even if I tried."

Snape waved him off to the hallway.

"Bathroom. You look like a wreck, and the hot water will relax your muscles."

He nodded his thanks and obeyed, spending a good half-hour under the thundering water, letting the aches and strains fade.

Afterward, Harry sat on the couch opposite Snape, curling his feet up under him, and contemplated the fire for some time. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Snape glance at him, and he pulled himself from the swirling miasma of his thoughts long enough to hear the man ask him a question.

"What have you learnt?"

At any other time the question would have been abrupt, out of context; but thinking back over the past hours/days/weeks - the torture with Malfoy, watching everyone he knew die horrifically, that final momentous feeling of betrayal, and then the adrenaline and the excitement that had claimed him since meeting up with Ron and Hermione, and the last grim acceptance of death as the poison spread through his body - Harry knew that this was Snape's true place: to be mentor, teacher, guide and guardian, to drum lessons into his head, to make him think and feel and act in a whole new light.

And so he replied as one might recite a lesson: "Stuff happens, accept it and move on."

Snape quirked an eyebrow and leant forward, hands clasped - gearing up into full debate mode.

"Articulate as always. So, someone holds a wand on you and tries to kill you... and you just accept that?"

Harry thought for a moment and then corrected himself, "Stuff happens, deal with it and move on."

Snape nodded. "Better."

"I was thinking..." Harry began slowly, staring into the fire as he formulated his thoughts.

Snape waited patiently for him to continue.

"If my worst fear wasn't fear... if my boggart wasn't a dementor... I wonder what it would be?"

The question being clearly rhetorical, Snape remained silent.

"I thought maybe Vernon - or even my cupboard, if a boggart can be an inanimate object - but I'm dealing with that stuff. And then I thought Voldemort, but he's only a - not _man - _but a _thing... _and he's more disgusting than anything. I hate him, yes, loathe him, even; but I don't _fear_ him. I fear what he has done, what he continues to do; but I don't fear _him._"

"So I follow that thought to its logical conclusion, and..."

He took a deep breath.

"Death."

At Snape's look he clarified, "Like with my parents. The death of my family, or friends, or - " he waved a hand in Snape's direction - "teachers. The death of others, the - the taking of life, the thought that I would be completely alone and completely responsible... it petrifies me, and then it all wells up inside me like a maelstrom... all sound and fury."

Snape smirked at the reference. "Signifying...?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know."

Harry sat back, drained. After a pause, he chuckled bitterly, and said, "My own death, on the other hand..." he shook his head, "I don't find nearly as alarming."

"_Potter!_" There was an explosion of movement.

Harry flinched and threw up an arm to ward off the coming blows.

There was a long moment of silence.

When Harry cautiously lowered his arm, he saw Snape standing at a careful distance before the fire, gazing down at him. The black eyes looked at him for a long while, and Harry had a sudden thought that _Snape was trying to control his temper..._

Biting off each word, Snape remarked, "One day, I am going to _kill_ those relatives of yours."

Harry blinked, unsure of how to respond. Snape smoothly drew the conversation back on course.

"The - sentiments - you expressed, in regard to your own death..." Snape exhaled slowly, and then ordered, "explain."

Harry dropped his gaze, staring at the carpet as he spoke. "To start with, I have mental, emotional, and physical evidence of eleven years of abuse and trauma from people who were supposed to love me. It would be easy to understand if they'd been Death Eaters; but these were my only living relatives - if my own family can't accept me, who can?"

"And then I find out that my whole existence thus far has been a lie; that I'm a wizard, and everything I was beaten to try and suppress is as natural as breathing. Not only that, but I'm _famous_ because some homicidal egomaniac murdered my parents and screwed up murdering me. I go from one extreme to the other, from - from whipping-boy to celebrity... And no-one has a clue."

He laughed bitterly. "That was what got me. No one had a clue. I was a stupid, worthless _freak_... and then I was perfect little Harry Potter, the blimmin' Boy-Who-Lived. There was no middle ground... and I just wanted to be _normal_, for once in my life..."

Harry dashed tears from his eyes, breathing ragged. The cushions sank a little as Snape sat beside him, laying a hand over his own where it rested on Harry's knee. Harry started a little at the contact, meeting Snape's concerned eyes for a moment before looking away; but he turned his hand and grasped the lean fingers, grateful for the contact, before continuing.

"First year was Quirrell, and his little talk about how "there is no good and evil, only power, and those too weak to use it", or words to that extent. I killed him, you know." He glanced at Snape. "I first killed a man at eleven years old. I was trying to defend myself, trying to push him away... his face was all blistered and burned... I can still see it, sometimes, in my dreams. And did anyone say, "Are you alright, Harry?" "Would you like counselling, Harry?" No, it was "Well done, Harry" and "Fifty points to Gryffindor!"" he snorted. "I get _rewarded_ for killing a teacher."

Harry returned his gaze to the floor.

"Second year the whole school hated me for being able to speak Parseltongue, which supposedly meant I was Slytherin's heir: and then Tom Riddle tried to persuade me that we were _kindred spirits_." he shuddered at the memory.

"Third year there was an escaped mass-murderer on my tail, then I find out he's my godfather and he betrayed my parents, _then_ it turns out he's innocent and the rat betrayed them, which means that I can finally have some semblance of a real family, except I can't, because the Ministry still think he's guilty so he has to go into hiding and I can't even see him, let alone live with him. So there goes my one chance at escape from the Dursley's, my one chance at finally having a parental figure, my one chance at having a _loving family_." he spat the words angrily.

"And last year..." Harry shook his head uneasily, slumping back against the couch. "Last year was... horrific."

He remembered how Cedric had looked, so surprised, as his eyes stared blankly into the middle distance. Remembered the debilitating panic as he was bound to the gravestone, remembered the searing pain as Voldemort rose from the cauldron...

Harry closed his eyes against the assault of memories, suddenly more thankful than he could say for the warmth of Snape's hand on his.

He waited until he was calm once more, and then said, "And this year... with Umbridge, and those detentions, and then -" he glared at Snape, "you telling me about that sodding prophecy..."

He swallowed, hard.

"It just keeps piling up."

Harry stopped, unable to find the words, and waved a hand helplessly.

Snape seemed to understand the unspoken, and nodded, before asking calmly, "And you truly wished to die?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"In the graveyard... he made me duel with him. Made me - _bow_ - to him." He shivered. "_Bow to death, Harry_. And I managed to dodge for a bit, but it was hopeless, really... I decided I'd rather go down fighting than hiding like a coward. I don't know that I _wanted_ to die... but I was definitely _prepared_ to."

He rubbed his forehead.

"It just seems like everything depends on me, like the fate of the entire wizarding world is on my shoulders. I'm trapped... and I'm not really free until he's gone, am I? He's always going to be hunting me, and one day I'm going to have to face him for the last time, and one of us will die. Kill or be killed... Murder or be murdered..."

Harry met Snape's eyes despairingly. "Until then, I won't really be _living._ I'll be training, and waiting, and hoping and praying that I can somehow beat him... but I won't be able to really _live._" The corner of his mouth lifted in a bitter smile. "_Neither can live while the other survives._"

Harry closed his eyes and slumped forward onto Snape, finally finished his rant. The man's arms wrapped around his back, cocooning him in a safe warmth that smelt of cinnamon and dittany. Harry burrowed his head into the crook of Snape's shoulder, curling up almost in his lap as silent tears ran down his face. A crease between his brows, Snape stared over Harry's head into the fire, thumbs rubbing idle circles on the boy's back as Harry rested.

They stayed that way for a long time.

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	11. Chapter 11

As always, I don't own it.

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Bonus points if you can spot the TV Tropes reference.

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And on with the show...

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The darkness shifted, and a hand carded gently through his hair.

"Harry?"

Harry sighed and sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

The crease between Snape's brows had cleared, and his eyes glimmered with a sense of purpose.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Snape stood and strode to the bookshelf. "Firstly - " he ran a hand over the books, selecting one and flipping through the pages. He stopped, running a finger down the page until he found the phrase he was looking for.

"While we are on the subject of death, allow to acquaint you with a maxim."

"Um... 'kay."

"It was written by a British author and theologian by the name of C.S. Lewis - "

"Hey, I've heard of him!" Harry interjected. "He wrote the Chronicles of Narnia."

"He also wrote numerous essays, arguments, short stories, and a Space Trilogy; but the Narnia series would be his most widely-known work, yes."

Snape replaced the book and sat in the armchair opposite. His gaze turned to the fire, and the black eyes became lost in memory, staring into the dancing flames. Snape's mouth opened, and a silky murmur emerged, words that would stay with Harry for the rest of his life, etched indelibly into his brain:

"_No-one ever told me that grief felt so like fear_."

A lump rose in Harry's throat; he blinked back sudden tears and said, somewhat hoarsely, "Yeah. That about covers it."

Snape nodded and abruptly turned to face him.

"Secondly, if you have no objection, I would like to Legilimise you."

Harry blinked and stared at Snape, seeing the glimmer of humour in the dark eyes, the slight twist at the corner of his mouth that meant he was perfectly aware that what he was asking was bordering on the ridiculous, the twitch of an eyebrow, mocking, daring, challenging...

But before Harry could reply the room spun and darkened, the pressure crushing him to the floor, and when it eased and he opened his eyes he was sprawled on the floor in a bare whitewashed room.

_No..._

_No, no, no, no, no..._

_Please, no..._

_Please..._

_No..._

Harry scuttled sideways, pressing his back to the wall, eyes darting around the room, searching, searching...

But there was no door, no windows from which to escape; just plain white walls, white floor, white ceiling; and the sense of panic and claustrophobia increased.

Suddenly the room plunged into darkness, and Harry knew exactly where he was now; knew that if he sat up any straighter his head would be brushing cobwebs, knew that if he stretched out an arm he'd have maybe an inch on his left side and three feet on his right before he hit a wall. A dull grey light was seeping through the vent in the door, illuminating the dusty interior of the cupboard -

- and then the door flew open and Harry threw up an arm against the sudden influx of light -

- and when he lowered his arm he was back in the white room, and 16-year-old Tom Riddle was standing in front of him.

Harry worked some moisture back into his mouth and licked his dry lips before adopting what he hoped was a casual tone. "Tom."

Riddle smirked, not deceived in the slightest. "Harry."

_Blast._

Harry forced a chuckle, "Now all we need is a Richard."

Anger flashed across Riddle's face, mouth curling in an ugly snarl, eyes narrowed dangerously: and then the mask slid into place, and he was as carelessly debonair as ever.

Harry arched an eyebrow in a very Snape-like manner. "Familiar with that saying, are we? You really don't like Muggles, do you, Riddle?"

The 16-year-old's mouth was set in a grim line. "No. I don't." And then he relaxed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he strolled around the perimeter of the room.

Harry climbed slowly to his feet and leant against the wall, watching the other boy's meandering progress, waiting for him to make the first move.

Finally Tom spoke.

"Do you know why you're here, Potter?"

Harry blinked. "I would assume, _Riddle_, that I'm here because you want me to be here."

"Well, yes." He waved a hand. "You're here because I'm going to break you. I'm going to make you wish you were dead. You're going to retreat into yourself; you will be _non compos mentis,_ you will go insane, crazy, nutters, completely bonkers, absolutely barmy: irrevocably and irrefutably _stark raving mad._"

He laughed, a chilling sound that echoed in the small room. "And do you know who brought you here? Would you like to know the person responsible for you being in this situation?"

"Oh, let me guess," Harry said sarcastically, "Pettigrew?"

A shake of the head.

"Malfoy. Either of them."

"Nope."

"I've got it this time - Ron the Death Eater."

Riddle grinned at him, a slow curl that stretched from ear to ear, and Harry was struck by the sudden resemblance to Tim Curry - or maybe the Cheshire Cat. "You were brought here," Riddle drawled, "by none other than our favourite Potions Master."

Harry's amusement disappeared, and in a flash he had slammed Riddle against the wall, hands fisting in the front of his robes.

"Liar." He snarled.

Riddle laughed, seemingly not the least disturbed by the turn of events. "What, you thought he liked you, Potter? Thought he actually _cared?_ Thought maybe his loyalty to the old man was greater than to _me?_"

He laughed again. "It was Snape's fault your parents _died_, boy."

Harry fought down the rush of murderous rage, fought to think clearly: and he smiled mirthlessly. "Wrong."

Before Riddle could open his mouth to protest, he went on. "Oh, I know he told you the prophecy: but in the long run that made very little difference. You were already after my parents - all the prophecy did was take the attention off them and onto me. It was probably part of the reason why you gave Mum a chance to get away - 'cause you were suddenly more interested in me."

Harry adjusted his grip for a moment before continuing conversationally. "Thing is, it was Snape who helped make Mum's death meaningful, helped save me. You might remember a certain Death Eater asking you to spare her? No doubt he gave his own disgusting reasons for you doing so, but in reality he loved her. You see? He couldn't bear that the woman he loved be - " his breath hitched - "killed. Murdered. Massacred."

He paused to get his breathing under control. "And then, as a reward to said young Death Eater, you gave Mum a chance to get away. Three chances, actually."

Harry remembered the feel of the Dementors, the rattling breaths, and he dredged up the memory of that night and flung it into the room, so that the sound filled the air.

"_Out of my way - _"

"_No, not Harry - please - _"

Harry held up a finger. "One."

"_Stand aside, you silly girl, stand aside now - _"

"_Please, no, not Harry, kill me instead - _"

He added a finger. "Two."

"_This is your last chance - stand aside._"

"_No, please - have mercy - _"

"Three."

Harry laughed, a genuine laugh full of amusement. "If the prophecy wasn't correct before, it certainly is now. Did it ever occur to you that she just defied you three times? _Another_ three times? That's gotta be some sort of record."

Riddle's mouth opened in a silent snarl.

"Dumbledore said Mum's love protected me from that curse. But I was thinking, if it's as simple as that, why doesn't everyone do it? And then I realised - it was the fact that it was a sacrifice. It was a decisive choice on her part. She willingly stood in the firing line when she had a chance to escape scot-free. And _then_ I realised that she _never would have got that chance if it hadn't been for Snape_."

Riddle blinked, green eyes startled.

"So really, you have Snape to thank for the fact that I'm alive."

Harry grinned, and added, "And there is no way in the seven circles of Hell that he is responsible for their deaths - you already wanted them dead, and it was your hand and _your hand only _that cast those curses."

Riddle frowned and snarled and pulled away, striding to the far end of room: and when he turned back his face was impassive once more.

"Makes no difference now, Potter. I still have you under my power, I will still break you utterly and completely."

Harry raised his hands, palm-up, in a sort of shrug. "But will you, though?"

"Yes." It was stated flatly: but after months of verbal sparring with Snape, (where often the only difference between a jest and a deadly insult was a raised eyebrow or slight curl of the lip,) Harry could sense the edge to the words, could see the twitch of a muscle in his jaw: and so he hid a laugh behind a not-quite cough, and replied mildly:

"Right. Well, you just try it, and we'll see how it goes, yeah?"

Riddle glared at him for a moment before muttering, "Yeah."

His features smoothed: he swept Harry a mocking bow, turned, and was gone.

* * *

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What d'you think? Is it about time to wind up the nightmares and get back to the real world? Not too sure what they're gonna do when they get back there, other than Snape confronting Toad-Lady, o'course...

Leave me a note - input always appreciated.

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Thanks for reading! Reviews are wonderful!


	12. Chapter 12

As ever, I own neither the characters, nor the HP books, settings, rights, patents, etc, etc, etc.

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I've had this written and ready to go for over a week now, but the site wouldn't let me edit my story! So I couldn't add this chapter until now. Sorry for the delay!

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We are now over 20,000 words! Milestone!

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There is yet another TV Tropes reference, this time rather more obvious.

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Must say I was disappointed at the feedback ratio for the last chapter.

On upload day it got 1.35K hits... and then I get a grand total of 2 reviews for the chapter.

2 reviews.

From over A THOUSAND hits.

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Surely you can do better this time?

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Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, staring into the middle distance.

At his last estimate, it'd been an hour since Riddle had gone. Thus far nothing had happened: the strategy for making him go mad seemed to consist of nothing more than leaving him alone and isolated. He'd tried meditative breathing, and lasted a whole ten minutes before slipping off into a daydream. His surroundings lent themselves to introspection - his thoughts somehow echoed off the walls, as if he were speaking them aloud. Listing ingredients and the method for making Polyjuice Potion took a satisfying half-hour - though he thought he might have been meant to slice the shrivelslugs instead of crushing them; and now he was trying to remember the twelve uses of dragon's blood.

To his disgust, (they'd covered the topic in _first year_, for Merlin's sake), Harry could only think of eleven uses, and after a full five minutes of wracking his brains for the twelfth, he gave up and lay down on the floor, frowning up at the ceiling.

It wasn't that he wasn't used to isolation - in fact he'd learnt to accept it at an early age, when the Dursleys locked him in his cupboard for hours on end. He even welcomed it on occasion, the darkness acting as a soothing balm while his bruises and welts slowly healed. The problem was that it simply wasn't how this sort of thing was meant to go. When you're a prisoner of the Dark Lord, you expect blood and pain and multiple time-freezing bouts of the Cruciatus, not being locked in a bare room like some mental patient.

_Ah_.

_Dunderhead_, an internal voice that sounded remarkably like Snape murmured. Harry could practically see the smirk.

He replayed that last sentence.

_Blah blah blah... not being locked in a bare room like some mental patient_.

Ha. Well that explained a lot. While it was rather surprising that Riddle would stoop to Muggle methods to break Harry, it was also supremely unexpected and even cunning. So many of his plans had been complex to a degree that would have made Rube Goldberg proud: this latest scheme was breathtaking in its simplicity. Simply contain him to a single, bland room - no windows, no variation in the starkness of it, not even a flea-covered rug or a bucket in the corner to relieve himself: and watch him go mad.

Harry laced his hands behind his head and grinned up at the ceiling.

_This is going to be fun._

What Riddle didn't know was that he'd been conditioned to this sort of punishment from a very early age. Those dark hours in the cupboard he could now view as resistance training, as a way to increase his mental strength and decrease the likelihood of breaking down. The harsh brightness of the room was almost the polar opposite of the calm dark of his cupboard: but Harry supposed that he would adapt, much as real prisoners and spies did in war.

And then he shivered as he remembered the end of last year, when Dumbledore sent Snape off to Merlin-knew-where... _You know what I must ask you to do... Good luck..._ He remembered the ugly brand on Snape's arm, and a shiver went down his spine when he thought about the fact that _Snape was a spy_...

For a moment, Harry idly wondered if Snape had ever faced this sort of torture, far more psychological than physical; and then he paused, and gathered the knowledge of Snape's true loyalties, and the idle thought that followed, and buried it all deep in the recesses of his mind, because Voldemort could not - _would not - _find the truth out from him.

_Although, _the internal Snape-voice drawled, _there's a very good chance he won't bother you again for quite some time. After all, the point of this exercise seems to be psychological torture, not interrogation._

Harry snorted. _Maybe it's a trap. Keeping me here 'til someone comes to rescue me._

A pause, and then: _To what are you referring?_

_Star Wars. You know, in The Empire Strikes Back, when they're torturing Harrison Ford so Luke will come to the rescue and meet his dear old dad._

Harry could just see the raised eyebrow. _Oh, yes. Because the Dark Lord relies on old Muggle films for his grandiose schemes._

He chuckled.

It had been so easy, for the last five years, to hear only the biting sarcasm in Snape's words. But now that he knew the man better... there were so many layers to his voice. There was his 'this-is-a-mild-warning' tone, and 'are-you-a-complete-dunderhead?' for rhetorical questions, and of course 'arrogant-spawn-of-a-Potter', which was frenzied and aggressive and bordered on apoplexy, for when he was really into a full-blown tirade.

And then there was the deadly whisper, for when he was right through mere anger and out the other side, into a cold rage that meant he was contemplating the merits of various creative torture techniques, where castration and Chinese Water Torture would be the _least_ of the victim's worries.

Of course, the standard tone, the one he used a good 80 percent of the time, was pure snark. It varied, of course: there was ironic snark, and there was cruel, sarcastic snark, and there was almost-a-joke snark: but it was still snark.

Snape was, in fact, the Snark Knight. With the cynical humour and billowing robes, intelligence and cunning of a master spy, and skill set befitting an ex-Death Eater and Potions Master, the epithet fit perfectly.

Harry wondered what Snape would do if he ever used the nickname within earshot of the man. Probably set him a week's evenings scrubbing cauldrons.

And then he frowned as his thoughts went back to the 'arrogant-spawn-of-a-Potter' remark, and promptly flew off at a tangent.

_I'm quite clearly not arrogant, 'cause the Dursley's would have beaten it out of me long ago... So what's the opposite of arrogant, then?_

_Humble._

_There's a quote about that somewhere... Shakespeare, I think. Not Yeats, anyway._

He grinned, wracking his brains.

_Something about the sea? The tide? Yeah, that's it. Oh, and love, of course; can't have anything around wee Harry without it having something to do with Lurve..._

_Now what was it.. the something-or-other incardinate? Incarnadine? No, that was the Scottish Play. Bother. This one was from Othello, I think. Something about the tide, and never... never going back? never... _

"_Ne'er ebb to humble love..."_

_Ah, that's it._

"_Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,  
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_shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love."_

Harry shivered.

It was a frighteningly apt quote, but not for him. Rather, it fit the character of Voldemort to a T - both aggressive and remorseless, yet with a sort of savage allure.

The thought was truly disturbing. Voldemort - _alluring?_

_What was he thinking?_

Groaning, Harry rolled onto his stomach and buried his head in his arms, drumming his feet against the floor in a brief fit of vexation. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as the movies made it look - in fact, he felt about three years old, and he stopped abruptly.

_Right. Wiggenweld Potion. Ingredients are..._

And from there he moved swiftly through the third-year curriculum and onto the fourth, and then went through as much of the current year as he could remember.

By then Harry's mind felt sufficiently numb - or at least sufficiently blurry - and he could forget all about that positively horrifying thought he'd had earlier.

He curled up on his side and slept.

Time dragged on.

Sleep.

Wake.

Think.

Walk.

Think.

Lie down.

Think.

Sleep.

Wake.

Ad Infinitum, or so it felt.

At his third time waking, he started a detailed diagram of all his friends and family and their interactions and interconnecting relationships. He couldn't tell if he was visualizing it in his mind or if it was actually appearing on the wall in front of him: he could have been hallucinating. After all, he hadn't had anything to eat in days, and the last time he'd had a drink was in Snape's rooms before being dumped here.

But it didn't really matter - the diagram was _there_, in whatever sense, and so he would work on it and use it to prevent himself from going mad.

_Harry James Potter._

_James Potter, Father._

_Lily Potter nee Evans, Mother._

A line from James to Lily with a minuscule 'm' for Married, and a line downwards to Harry's name.

_Sirius Black, official Godfather._

_Remus Lupin, non-official Godfather._

_Severus Snape, _- Harry hesitated, and then settled for -_ Mentor._

_Hermione Granger, Best Friend._

_Ron Weasley, Best Friend._

And so on.

It took him two sleeps to finish the basic outline of it, and then he started on the interconnections between people.

_James Potter - Sirius Black: Best Friends._

_Sirius Black - Remus Lupin: Best Friends._

_Sirius Black - Severus Snape: Mortal Enemies._

_Severus Snape - Lily Potter - Best Friends._

Connecting it all up took a further five sleeps, and then Harry sat there, grinning in exhilaration, soaking up the sight of the completed diagram - it looked like a bizarre cross between a family tree and a spider's web - and basking in the satisfaction of a job well done.

When he next woke up, there was someone else in the room.

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Reviews are absolutely brilliant and truly do make me feel wonderful.

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What's your favourite quote so far?

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I've a mind to turn this scenario into a good old Snape-and-Harry-captured-by-Death-Eaters-and-have-to-escape-and-have-an-epic-journey-back-to-Hogwarts. Just to see if I can write a better one than the ones I've read (which mostly suffer from lack of grammar, spelling, punctuation, flow, etc).

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If I did the above scenario, it would likely take a good few chapters, and would most probably be the last scenario before Harry wakes up from his Dreamworld.

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Opinions?


	13. Chapter 13

The characters, objects, settings, concepts, spells, charms, hexes, curses, and other such paraphernalia contained herein are the exclusive property of Joanna Kathleen Rowling and her advisors and managers, etcetera. They do not belong to me.

Apologies for the delay; Uni's rather busy at the moment - assignments and tests all over the place,

and exams coming up in a month, so the next chapter might not be out for a couple weeks.

Another quiet chapter, the next one will be rather more exciting and angsty, and then it'll be about Harry's time to wake up.

Finally.

=D Enjoy!

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Harry awoke slowly from a deep, dreamless sleep. For long minutes he just lay there, comfortably drowsy, enjoying the simple task of breathing, the quiet inhale and exhale of air. And then he realised two things: one, the temperature had dropped significantly overnight, and two, he was now shivering from the cold.

He opened his eyes and scooted into a corner where he sat, back to the wall, arms wrapped around drawn-up legs to try and contain his shivering.

And then a voice murmured, "10 points from Gryffindor for an absolutely horrific lack of observational skills."

Harry jumped, startled, and whipped his head around so fast his neck vertebrae made a nasty cracking sound, and he had to pause and let his vision re-focus. A very familiar man was sitting against the opposite wall, long legs outstretched in front of him, looking remarkably at ease - and, Harry noted with some jealousy, not the slightest bit cold.

"Hey, Moony."

He frowned, and fought back a particularly violent shiver.

"Since when do _you_ take points from Gryffindor?"

The frown became distinctly puzzled.

"And since when do you say things like _absolutely horrific lack of observational skills?_"

He blinked.

"Oh. Um... oops. Sorry, sir."

Snape smirked. "You will be, Potter."

Harry managed a half-hearted grin that slid into a grimace, as the cold continued to attack his bones: he tried to curl further into himself, tightening his arms around his knees and ducking his head as his teeth gave a single, stifled chatter. Snape's smirk faded rapidly: he narrowed his eyes at Harry for a moment, and then snapped, "Good grief, Potter, get over here before you freeze to death."

Harry grinned again through chattering teeth, eased to his feet, and shuffled over to sit beside Snape. Surprisingly, the man had procured a cloak from somewhere - then again, it was highly likely he'd simply been wearing it - and proceeded to wrap it around him, muttering something along the lines of _Your mother would never forgive me. _With some amusement, Harry noticed that the brusque tone didn't quite cover the underlying note of concern.

"But won't you get cold?"

"My core temperature is naturally quite warm; besides, I live in the dungeons 9 months or more of the year - I'm used to a lower temperature by now."

"Oh. M'kay. Thanks."Harry smiled sleepily and burrowed closer into Snape's side, relishing the warmth of both the heavy cloak and the Potions Master.

There was a contented silence for some minutes, and then Harry shifted slightly, and mumbled a question:

"So why're you here?"

He missed the sardonic glance that Snape darted at his tousled head. "I came to get you out, obviously."

Harry snorted softly. "Good job."

A near-silent chuckle vibrated through the air. "Brat."

"Git."

A hand rapped him gently on the head. "Presumptuous youngster." The words were belied by the fingers now running through his hair.

Harry made a small noise of contentment. After a moment, Snape continued talking.

"As it happens, there are three Portkeys in the pocket of that cloak."

Harry jerked his head up. "What? Why didn't you say so?"

He thrust a hand deep into first one pocket and then the other, trying to locate the Portkeys. Snape placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"They are of no use," he said softly.

"What d'you mean, _no use_ - "

"Harry - "

"Where do they go? Surely _one_ of them..."

"The first lands us directly outside the gates of Hogwarts, the second goes to an area of London near Headquarters, and the third to an undisclosed location that acts as an intermediary for one of the many safe houses. And they are of no use."

There was an edge to Snape's voice that hadn't been there before, a sort of grim realisation; and it was this more than anything that made Harry pause. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before looking up at Snape. There was only dark truth in the man's eyes.

Harry groaned and let his head fall forward onto his drawn-up knees.

"So when you said they were of no use..."

"I meant exactly that. They are, quite literally, of no use."

"None whatsoever?"

Snape gusted an impatient sigh. "How many times must I repeat myself? Harry, look at me."

Knowing a command when he heard one, Harry tilted his head to look at Snape, meeting the black eyes squarely.

"Any and all portkeys present in that cloak, this room, or anywhere within a hundred kilometres are completely and utterly useless; the reason being that there are anti-portkey wards, generated somewhere in this very building, that encompass that area of space, as well as apparation wards, anti-detection wards, wards to redirect owls, and who knows what else."

"Of course," he added with a smirk, "that only means they are useless as a portkey. They are still available for general consumption - or possibly for use as a bludgeon, if we had the misfortune to receive one of Hagrid's rock cakes."

_Food?_ Harry stared at him, hardly daring to hope, as his stomach gave a sudden angry rumble. "You brought food?"

"Yes, Mr Potter, I _brought food_." Snape parroted his words, lightly mocking.

"Where? Sir." Harry tacked the honorific on, belatedly realising the short question sounded ridiculously blunt and ungracious.

Snape merely raised an eyebrow in warning before nodding toward the cloak. "I believe in being prepared for all eventualities. Thus, in that cloak you will find not only the portkeys and copious amounts of extra food, but also various liquids to drink, a range of potions for offensive, defensive and healing practices, several blankets, two spare wands, and a menagerie of miscellaneous equipment that would be incredibly tiring to list at the current time. And spare boots."

Overloaded with information, Harry repeated the last thing he'd heard in what he felt was an unfortunately stupid tone of voice: "Boots?"

"Boots, Mr Potter. Items, generally of leather, that you put on your feet and tighten with laces."

"I know _what_ they are - " Harry spluttered, "but why boots?"

A grin curled at the corner of Snape's mouth; he leant his head back against the stone wall and regarded Harry.

"Some words of wisdom for you: before you judge a man, walk a mile in his boots. That way, when you do judge him, you're a mile away and you have his boots."

Harry just stared at him, utterly confused. _Maybe he's finally lost the plot..._

Snape was watching him with an air of amusement, no doubt smirking internally at the expression of dazed bewilderment on his face.

"Walking, Harry," he finally said. "The boots are for walking."

Harry paused to let that sink in. "Oh."

And then, as his brain caught up with his mouth, "Right, 'cause we can't portkey or apparate, so... but... wait, hang on a minute..." he turned to look incredulously at Snape.

"We have to walk _one hundred kilometres_ before we can get out of here?"

"Yes." came the unconcerned answer.

"_Sixty miles._"

"Yes."

Harry stared at him for a moment, then exhaled a shaky breath. "Alright then."

Feeling tired and overwhelmed, he slumped against Snape's side, curling further into the warmth of the cloak.

There was silence for a long while, and then Harry spoke.

"You know, it's kinda funny - " he murmured.

Snape rubbed a thumb across the back of his neck. "Yes? What is 'funny'?"

"'s funny how you always seem to turn up. I was really worried about this, 'cos I thought I'd be all alone," Harry admitted quietly, "but then we were in your rooms, and you turn up here, and - well, it's nice. Nice to know someone's keeping an eye on me."

Snape snorted. "Potter, the entire wizarding world is, as you put it,_ keeping an eye on you_."

Harry quirked his lip in a grin. "Yeah, but your way of doing it's good. Their way isn't."

"H'm." Snape made a thoughtful noise. "I'm no Rita Skeeter, certainly."

Harry chuckled quietly. "No, that you aren't."

A pause, and then he spoke again, content and drowsy, and somehow it was easier to talk in the warm dark with his eyes closed, "You smell nice."

Snape shifted under him, and repeated his words in a slow, disbelieving voice.

"I - smell - nice..."

"Mmm-hmmm." Harry nodded sleepily against Snape's chest. "Like cinnamon. And dittany. And a little bit of asphodel."

Harry could tell the instant Snape had an idea, could see without looking the slow curl of a lip as he asked smoothly, "And why do you think that is, Mr Potter? After nearly five years of Potions classes, you should have _some_ idea as to the significance of those particular ingredients."

Knowing Snape would expect him to be completely stumped, Harry smirked and answered calmly, "But of course, Professor. Cinnamon is a spice, associated with strength and comfort; dittany is a herb and is the exclusive mark of a Healer; and the hint of asphodel would be the influence of Lily Potter nee Evans."

Sitting up, he grinned at the stunned expression on Snape's face, and inquired, "Any chance of that food? I'm rather hungry."

* * *

Review please! =D


	14. Chapter 14

**I don't own it. This is it, the (revised) final chapter (except for a possible epilogue/oneshot showing Snape's 'chat' with Umbridge. Votes will be counted, so if you want to see that, please let me know).**

* * *

Snape woke, opened his eyes and stood, all in one smooth movement. A quick trip to the bathroom, an even quicker check to de-wrinkle his jeans and shirt, and he joined Bill and Remus at the high bench, one hand clasped firmly around a mug of black coffee.

Harry was almost finished a huge plate of food, washing it down with gulps of pumpkin juice. The dream-Snape had chosen an crisp apple and was eating it slowly, a smirk on his face as he watched Harry scarf down his meal.

It was a strange experience, watching oneself eat.

Then again, it was a strange experience watching oneself do anything.

And it was curious how it brought out his repressed sense of vanity.

Snape had known his hair was lank and greasy - it was one of the more common side-effects of working over a cauldron all day - but he'd never realised just how bad it looked from an outsider's perspective.

The dream-Snape had all of his characteristics, too - the slight smirk, the perfectly arched eyebrow, even the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he was pleased. Idly, Snape thought that he'd have to congratulate Harry on the observational capacities of his unconscious mind - most people, when trying to personify him, would be stuck with a two-dimensional caricature.

Watching himself, Snape saw the sudden glimmer of alarm in the dark eyes.

Following his line of sight, he saw that the far wall had shimmered and shivered and was now transparent, allowing a full view into the next room.

A room that contained Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

His sharp inhalation of breath caught the attention of Bill and Remus, and they turned to see what had caused his reaction.

"Oh, that can't be good." Bill murmured apprehensively.

One glance at Remus' face, which was now a sickly shade of green, and he took charge.

"Lupin, you're not watching this."

The wolf didn't protest: instead he looked to be in serious danger of barfing as he stumbled his way through into the bunkroom. Snape sent a silent spell toward the door, ensuring that Lupin couldn't exit anytime soon.

The tension was thick in the air, and Snape could feel intuitively that this was the end, the grand finale before the curtain came down...

He traded a telling glance with Weasley, and they turned to watch events unfold.

* * *

Harry had just taken a mouthful of pumpkin juice when he noticed the window. The juice rather hurriedly left his mouth to create a nicely aesthetic pattern on the floor.

A softly spoken word from Snape had the food packed away and the spill removed, and they stood and approached the window cautiously. Harry slowly lifted a hand, fingers splayed, and pressed it against the glass, as if he could reach out and touch the men on the other side.

"Si - Sirius? Remus?"

There was no reaction from the two men, who were now deep in silent conversation.

"Remus? Sirius?"

Harry tried knocking on the window, but it made no difference. A hand rested gently on his shoulder.

"They can't hear you, Harry."

Harry tilted his head to look up at Snape. "I can't hear them, either."

"M'hmm." Snape made a thoughtful sort of noise. "And I suspect this window is one-way, as well. We can see them, but they only see a wall."

"Oh."

The Potions Master studied the next room through narrowed eyes, and then announced, "I don't like the look of this. They're planning something."

"Who, Sirius and Remus?"

"No. Whoever put them - and us - in here. And whatever it is is unlikely to be pleasant."

Harry swallowed nervously and nodded. Snape's hand was a comforting weight on his shoulder as they stood in silence, waiting...

And then the ceiling in the next room disappeared, revealing a roiling mass of patchy storm clouds, scudding across the sky.

Sirius and Remus were looking at each other, frozen with horror, as Snape's hand tightened on Harry's shoulder.

"Oh, no..." Harry's words emerged in a whisper. "They're - they're going to -" he turned panicked eyes to Snape and asked, dreading the answer, "It's a full moon tonight, isn't it?"

Snape just nodded, throat dry.

Sirius and Remus were talking frantically, gesturing wildly: Remus turned his back in clear frustration, snapping something back over his shoulder, then wheeled around and shook Sirius by the shoulders. Sirius was shaking his head, refusing to do whatever Remus was asking. Remus dropped his hands and stared at Sirius, an agonised, heartbroken look in his eyes - and then he stepped forward and embraced him like a brother, and they clung to each other for what seemed like it could be the last time.

Sirius stepped back, pale and resolute. Remus threw his hands up and shouted something at the sky: whatever it was seemed to work: the clouds parted, letting shafts of moonlight illuminate the room.

And Remus - soft-hearted, shabby Remus - mouthed something that looked like "I'm sorry" as he transformed into a ravening wolf, and Sirius - bold, energetic Sirius - stood, stoic and unmoving, as his best friend lunged at him and brought him to the ground before tearing his body to pieces.

Harry turned away, burying his face in Snape's shirt as tears of horror ran down his face. A shaky hand threaded through his hair and clasped him tighter to the warm chest, arm wrapping around him, holding him secure.

Mind finally overloaded with the obscenities he'd witnessed, Harry fell into darkness.

* * *

Consciousness returned, gently fading in from wherever it had gone. Harry couldn't muster the energy to open his eyes, and so he lay in the darkness of closed eyelids, enjoying the comfort of the soft mattress, listening to sound of quiet breathing filling the air.

Somehow - Harry wasn't sure how, but somehow - he knew that this was it, this was the real thing - no longer trapped in his mind, no longer in the Room of Requirement. His head felt clearer than it had in a long time, and his body was warm and snug under the covers...

It was with a smile on his face that he rolled over and went back to sleep.

When he next woke, Harry could feel the brightness of the room from behind his eyelids. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly to bring the room into focus, and saw the white sterility of a private room in the Hospital Wing. Bright sunbeams were pouring in through the vaulted window, reflecting off the white walls and dancing on the polished flagstone floor. Snape was asleep on the next bed, looking awkward and gangly and somehow much more human curled up on his side with his hair falling over his face.

Harry rolled onto his back and cautiously levered himself up on his forearms. As his head came up off the pillow, his neck gave a painful twinge, and he couldn't halt the grunt that spilled past his lips.

"Harry!"

Snape was there in an instant, pushing his hair back from his face, piling pillows behind Harry's back, helping him sit up.

"Water?"

Harry tried to answer and managed a croaking "Y-" before he broke off, coughing.

Snape held the glass while Harry drank, sipping at it slowly, relishing the cool slide of liquid down his he was finished, Snape put the glass down on the side table, crossed swiftly to the door and ducked his head around it.

"Poppy! He's awake!"

There was the sound of clinking bottles and potions vials, and then brisk footsteps, and in came not only Madam Pomfrey, but Remus as well.

"Good to see you're awake, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said briskly, passing him a vial full of orange potion, "Drink this, please... and this one... thank you, and the last one... there."

She slipped the vials back into their holder while Harry chased the potions down with water. Remus had slipped around to the side of the bed and was seated in the visitor's chair, regarding him with warm eyes. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry turned to look at him and winced as his neck gave another twinge. "Not bad, actually. My body feels a bit tired, but in a good way, like I've had a lot of exercise and then a really long sleep."

He lifted a hand to his neck, only to find it batted away by Snape, who was now perched on the edge of his bed. Harry turned his attention back to Remus and ducked his head slightly, leaving the back of his neck bare as Snape started massaging it with his strong, capable hands.

"How long was I in there for?"

Remus eyed him thoughtfully, "How long do you think?"

Harry thought for a moment... say a day for the Malfoy business, a couple hours for the Stone and Severus' quarters, maybe four days for Riddle and the Isolation, and another hour or so for Severus and then Remus and Sirius...

"I don't know... five or six days?"

He made a soft murmur of appreciation as Snape's fingers dug into a particularly tense spot. Remus shook his head.

"You were in there for eleven days, and you've been asleep for a further three."

Harry stared at him, mouth opening and shutting and opening and shutting again as he tried to form the words to express what he was feeling. He finally just went with, "Oh."

"Articulate as ever, Mr Potter," came the amused murmur from behind him.

Harry grinned and lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug before becoming serious once more. "So, uh... what happens now?"

"What happens now, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said firmly, "is that you _rest_. If you do as you are told, you may go back to Gryffindor Tower after dinner tomorrow. And I suppose, now that the infectious stage of your, ah, spattergroit - " her lips twitched - "is over, your friends may come and visit you."

He grinned, feeling immensely lighthearted and relieved now that his ordeal was over. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey. Really, thank you. For - for everything."

She nodded, a rare smile gracing her features. "You are welcome, Mr Potter. Just don't let me see you in here anytime soon."

She picked up the empty potions vials and exited the room.

Snape slipped off the edge of the bed and stood. "I should be going as well - there's no telling what sort of mess the relief teachers have left in my classroom. I'll be back later, Harry." His eyes glittered malevolently as he added, "And I must go and have a chat to the High Inquisitor about her detentions..."

He swept out of the room.

Remus stood, too. "I need to go and speak to Albus before I head back to Headquarters, but I'll drop in at Gryffindor Tower on my way and send your friends along, shall I?"

Harry grinned as Remus leant down and embraced him warmly. "Gryffindor Tower isn't on the way to Dumbledore's Office, though..."

"_Professor_ Dumbledore, Harry."

And Remus chuckled and winked as he disappeared out the door.


End file.
